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Spring. 



WORD PICTURES. 

/ 

THOUGHTS AND DESCRIPTIONS 

From Popular Authors. 



Pictures of the Mind, Heart, and Life, selected from the 
works of great Artists in Literature. 



* 






Picture out each lovely meaning.' 



BOSTON: 
D. LOTHROP & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
- 38 AND 40 CORNHILL, 


















Copyright, 1875, by D. Lothrop & Co. 



INSCRIBED TO 
THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MOTHER 

MARGARET GUTHRIE STROHM. 

AND OF THE HAPPY DAYS WHEN WE READ 
TOGETHER. 



Note. 

The Compiler gratefully acknowledges her in- 
debtedness to the following Authors and Pub- 
lishers, who so generously gave permission to 
select from their works and publications repre- 
sented in this collection : — 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney, Miss L. M. Alcott, 
Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, Marion Harland, Miss E. 
S. Phelps, Miss Trafton, the Author of "Rut- 
ledge," Mrs. H. P. Spofford, and Messrs. W. D. 
Howells, Bayard Taylor, Julian Hawthorne, J. 
T. Trowbridge, T. S. Arthur, Rev. E. P. Roe, 
Rev. E. E. Hale, Dr. Holland, Col. De Forest, 
Messrs. J. R. Osgood & Co., Roberts' Brothers, 
Lee & Shepard, A. K. Loring, Harper & Broth- 
ers, Sheldon & Co., G. P. Putnam's Sons, D. 
Appleton & Co, J. B. Ford, G. W. Carleton, 
A. D. F. Randolph, L. A. Godey, J. B. Lippin 
cott & Co., and T. B. Peterson & Brothers. 

(5) 



CONTENTS. 

«♦» 

THOUGHTS. 

TA.GB 

Children 15 

Men and Women 18 

Love 27 

Sorrow 33 

"Words of Truth" 42 

DESCRIPTIONS AND SCENES. 

Early Spring [Three descriptions] . . . 69 

May '. 72 

June 72 

July 74 

Early Autumn 76 

October 77 

Indian Summer 79 

A Winter Night 80 

The Birds and the Great Winter . 82 

The Winter Sun 84 

Christmas-time 85 

Daybreak in the Country 87 

(7) 



8 CONTENTS. 

Sunrise 89 

Early Morning 91 

Sunset in the Valley . 92 

Sunset in tlie Forest 94 

Sunset in Italy " 96 

Night in the Mountain Chasm 98 

A Morning Kamble 100 

Evening Walks 103 

On the Hills 105 

On the Lake 107 

The Knight and the Nyniph of the Fountain .... 109 

Fall of Montmorenci . . . " . . . 115 

The Cascades 119 

A Rainy Day 120 

The Clearing of the Threatened Storm 122 

A Sabbath in Time of War 124 

Morning-glories 127 

The Farm . ' 128 

The Dreary Room 130 

The Mother's Dress 131 

The Family Recipt-book 132 

Making Book-marks 133 

The Musician 135 

Sympathy 137 

Christie's Consolation 139 

The Prayer . . . 142 

"The Shining Light" 145 

" Silence a la Mort !" 147 

In the Grave-yard 149 

In the Convent Garden 152 

In the Swing 154 



CONTENTS. 9 

In the Cars 157 

"Love's Young Dream" 161 

The Proposal 164 

Among the Lilies 167 

Walter and Annie " Interpreting Chestnut Burrs " . . 171 

Lotty's Objection 174 

A Wife's Philosophy ..,.._. 176 

The Pet Canary 178 

Margaret's Pdde 188 

The Children in the Burning Tower 197 

A Street Scene 205 

" Cockles and Crambo " 218 

" The Husking Frolic " 252 

"Picnicing in the Pine Woods" 266 

" A Golden Wedding " 294 





LIST OP AUTHOKS 



■«♦► 



PAGE 

1. Aguilar, Grace 42 

2. Alcott, Louisa M 42, 43, 141. 315 

3. Alexander, Mrs 18, 43 

4. Ames, Mrs. Mary Clemmer 19, 126 

5. Arthur, T. S 43 

'6. Auerbach, Berthold 43 

7. Author of " Lucy in the City " 293 

8. Author of " Queen of the County " . . . . .175 

9. Author of "Kutledge" 34 

10. Benedict, Frank Lee 196 

11. Bjornson 81 

12. Black, William 91, 123 

13. Blackmore, R. D 70, 83, 84 

14. Braddon, Miss 75 

15. Bronte, Charlotte 20, 44" 

1G. Broughton, PJioda 27 

17. Bulwer 27, 44, 45 

18. Carleton, William 129 

19. Charles, Mrs. E 131 

(10) 



LIST OF AUTHORS. II 

PAGE 

20. Chesebro', Caroline 27, 127 

21. Collins, Wilkie 106 

22. Comyn, L. N 45 

23. Craik, Mrs. Muloch 46, 47 

24. Curtis, Geo. Wm 28, 130 

25. Davis, Mrs. E. H 78 

26. De Forest, Col 99 

27. Dickens, Charles 15, 138, 151, 163 

28. Dickens, Miss - 48 

29. Disraeli 48 

30. Douglass, Amanda M 48, 49 

31. Edwards, Amelia B 29, 108 

32. Edwards, Mrs. Annie 29 

33. Elioart, Mrs 29 

34. Farjeon, B. L 187 

35. Francillon, K. E 93 

36. Fullerton, Lady G 35 

37. Gaskell, Mrs 49, 50 

38. Hale, Eev. E. E 51, 52 

39. Hardy, Thomas 52, 88, 166 

40. Harland, Marion 73, 148 

41. Haven, Mrs. Alice B 53 

42. Hawthorne, Nathaniel 114 

43. Helps, Sir Arthur 35 

44. Hentz, Mrs. Caroline Lee 30, 53 

45. Hoey, Mrs. Cashel 55 

46. Holland, Dr. J. G 36, 55 

47. Holmes, Mrs. M. J 144 

48. Howells, W. D 118 

49. Hugo, Victor 15, 20, 204 

50. Ingelow, Jean ... 16 



12 LIST OF AUTHORS. 

PAGE 

51. James, G. P. E 56 

52. Jenkin, Mrs. C 50 

53. Kavanagli, Julia 56 

54. Lauder, Meta 71 

55. Lawrence, Geo 57 

56. Lee, Holme 102 

57. Lever, Chas. 58 

58. Lewes, Mariau Evans 31, 58, 59 

59. Mac Donald, Geo 20,36,90 

60. Mc Carthy, Justin 31 

61. Marlitt, E 86 

62. Marryatt, Florence 60 

63. Mellen, Grenville 21 

64. Melville, Whyte 37 

65. Montgomery, Florence 60 

Q6. Norton, Hon. Mrs 61 

67. Oliphant, Mrs 32, 37, 170 

68. "Ouida" 136 

69. Owen, Ashford 61 

70. Payn, James 39 

71. Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart 104, 119 

72. Prentiss, Mrs 62 

73. Eeade, Chas 62 

74. Kiddell, Mrs. J. H 21, 63 

75. Eoe, Eev. E. P 22, 63, 173 

76. Saunders, Katherine . 217 

77. Schwartz, Madame 16 

78. Scott, Sir. Walter 39, 95 

79. Sewall, Miss 40 

80. Shand, A. 1 63 

81. Southworth, Mrs. E. D. E. N 41 



LIST OF AUTHORS. 1 3 

PAGE 

82. Spielhagen, F 76 

83. Spofford, Mrs. H. P 134 

84. Stephens, Mrs. Ann S 23, 265 

85. §towe, Mrs. H. B 16, 32, 132 

86. Taylor, Bayard 23, 24, 71, 72 

87. Thackeray, Annie Isabella 156 

88. Thackeray, W. M 41 

89. Thomas, Anne 32 

90. Townsend, Virginia F. . . ^ 24 

91. Trafton, Adeline 160 

92. Trollope, Anthony 25, 26 

93. Trollope, T. Adolphus 97 

94. Trowbridge, J. T 64 

95. Victor, Mrs 32, 79 

96. Yolckhansen, Ad. Yon 64 

97. Warner, Miss 146 

98. Whitney, Mrs. A. IX T 26, 121, 177, 251 

99. Wood, Mrs. Henry 17 

100. Tonge, Charlotte M 65 




THOUGHTS. 




WORD PICTURES 



CHILDREN. 



I love these little people; and it is not a slight 

thing when they, who are so fresh from God, 

love us. 

" Old Curiosity Shop."— Dickens. 



A bird sings — a child prattles — but it is the 
same hymn ; hymn indistinct, inarticulate, but 
full of profound meaning. 

" Ninety-Three." — Victor Hugo. 

" What sympathy children have with nature 

till education clouds it ! How distinct the little 

face is in the flower, as if when the first hearts- 

(15) 



l6 CHILDREN. 

ease was fashioned there had been a thought in 
the heart of the Great Maker of the first child's 
face that should look into it ages after." 

" Off the Skeleigs." — Jean Ingeloic. 

As an intense grief has had the power in a 
few hours to turn the hair white, so likewise can 
a sudden and severe encroachment upon the 
feelings, in the years of youth, instantly ripen 
the careless, undeveloped thought of the child, 
and kindle the light of ideas. 

"Berth and Education."— M adame Schwartz. 

I wonder what the reason is that it is one of 
the first movements of affectionate feeling to 
change the name of the loved one. Give a baby 
a name, ever so short and ever so musical, where 
ds the mother that does not twist it into some 
other pet name between herself and her child. 
" My Wife and I."— Mrs. H. B. Stowe. 

Win your child to love heavenly things in his 
early years, and he will not forget them when he 
is old. It will be as a very shield, compassing 



CHILDREN. 17 

him about through life. He may wander astray 
— there is no telling — in the hey-day of his hot- 
blooded youth, for the world's temptations are as 
a running fire, scorching all that venture into its 
heat ; but the good foundation has been laid, and 
the earnest incessant prayers have gone up, and 
he will find his way home again. 

"The Cha^otngs."— Mrs. Henry Wood, 





MEN AND WOMEN. 



" It is, indeed, as good fun as a cynic could 
ask," to hear a man, after worrying over a dozen 
minor miseries, all suggested by some accidental 
rub to a hidden raw on the surface of his self- 
conceit, turn upon his wife — baited into a fit of 
crying — and from the proud eminence of his 
superior reason, tell her she is a " weak fool." 

" Which shall it be t " — Mrs. Alexander. 

To see a highly-wrought, passionate woman 
jealous, is often a grand picture; for there may 
be sublimity in a mental and emotional storm as 
well as in a material one. But to see a gentle 
nature struck to the heart by this demon, is a 
sorrowful sight; there is no thunder and light- 
ning and wrath to sustain the energy of such a 
(18) 



MEN AND WOMEN. 19 

one, but only tears, and silent, unutterable an- 
guish. Such a woman struck by jealousy is like 
a dumb animal that has received its death-wound. 

"EiBEira:, or A Woman's Eight." — Mrs. Mary Clemmer 
Ames. 

I believe single women should have more to 
do — better chances of interesting and profitable 
occupation than they possess now. And when I 
speak thus, I have no impression that I displease 
God by my words ; that I am either impious or 
impatient, irreligious or sacrilegious. My conso- 
lation is, indeed, that God hears many a groan, 
and compassionates much grief which man stops 
his ears against, or frowns on with impotent con- 
tempt. I say impotent, for I observe that to 
such grievances as society cannot readily cure, 
it usually forbids utterance, on pain of its scorn ; 
this scorn being only a sort of tinseled cloak to 
its deformed weakness. People hate to be re- 
minded of ills they are unable or unwilling to 
remedy : isuch reminder, in forcing on them a 
sense of their own incapacity, or a more painful 



20 MEN AND WOMEN. 

sense of an obligation to make some unpleasant 
effort, troubles their ease and shakes their self- 
complacency. Old maids, like the homeless and 
unemployed poor, should not ask for a place and 
an occupation in the world ; the demand disturbs 
the happy and rich. 

" Shirley." — Charlotte Bronte. 

Cimourdain was one of those men who have 
an interior voice to which they listen. Such 
men seem absent-minded ; no, they are attentive. 
"Sestet y-Three." — Victor Hugo. 

Men like women to reflect them ; but the 
woman who can only reflect a man, and is noth- 
ing in herself, will never be of much service to 

him. 

"Guild Court." — George MacDonald. 

The General's lion-like face glowed with good 
humor, so that kind words bubbled out of him 
like water from a spring ; and every sentence 
was flavored with deep hidden thoughts, as 
water is charged with the properties of the soil 



MEN AND WOMEN. 21 

through which it passes in its upward course to 
air, undergoing some such transformations as the 
voice when it rises into meaning. 

" Young Beown. "—Grenville Mellen. 

It is a curious anomaly to notice how harsh 
the very excess of a woman's sensibility fre- 
quently renders her. 

She feels one side of a question so deeply, that 
there is no room left in her nature for consider- 
ing even the possibility of there being another 
side at all. 

"Fab above Kubles."— Mrs. J. H. Biddell. 

" Men with hobbies are my detestation, Miss 
Walton." 

" Nevertheless, they are the true knights-errant 
of our age. Of course it depends upon what 
kind of hobbies they ride, or whether they can 
manage their steeds." 

" Miss Walton, your figure suggests a half 
idiot, with narrow forehead and one idea, banging 
back and forth on a wooden horse, but making 



22 MEN AND WOMEN. 

no progress — in other words, a fussy, bustling 
man who can do and talk but one thing." 

" Your understanding of the popular phrase is 
narrow and literal, and while it may have such a 
meaning, can also have a very different one. 
Suppose, instead of looking with languid eyes 
alike upon all things, a man finds some question 
of vital import, or pursuit that promises good to 
himself and many others, and that enlists his in- 
terest. He comes at last to give • it his best 
energies and thought. The whole current of his 
life is setting in that direction. Of course he 
must ever be under the restraints of good sense 
and refinement. A man's life without a hobby is 
a weak and wavering line of battle indefinitely 
long. One's life with a hobby is a concentrated 
charge." 

" Opening of a Chestnut Bubb." — Bev. E. P. Boe. 

In the whole range of human feelings there is 
not a sensation that approaches so near to meek- 



MEN AND WOMEN. 23 

ness, as the pride of a woman who feels a wrong 
but gives it no utterance. 

" The Heiress." — Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. 

Something coarse and vulgar in his nature 
exhaled, like a powerful odor, through the as- 
sumed shell of a gentlemen, which he tried to 
wear, and rendered the assumption useless. 

" Story of Kennett." — Bayard Taylor. 

Martha Deane's voice was of that quality 
which compels an answer, and a courteous an- 
swer, from the surliest of mankind. It was not 
loud, it could scarcely be called musical ; but 
every tone seemed to exhale freshness as of dew, 
,and brightness as of morning. It was pure, 
slightly resonant ; and all the accumulated sor- 
rows of life could not have veiled its inherent 
gladness. It could never grow harsh, never be 
worn thin, or sound husky from weariness ; its 
first characteristic would always be youth, and 



24 MEN AND WOMEN. 

the joy of youth, though it came from the lips 
of age. 

" Stoey of Kennett." — Bayard Taylor. 

" How like a water-lily she looks among the 
others ! white, still, graceful, as though she had 
been gathered up suddenly from the broad, slow 
current where her life had ripened, silent and 
serene, into a great white purity and fragrance, 
and the dew is on her still, and the sunlight ! " 
" The Hollands." — Virginia F. Townsend. 

Between these two there had grown up, now 
during a period of many years, that undemon 
strative, unexpressed, almost unconscious affec- 
tion which with men will often make the greatest 
charm of their lives, but which is held by women 
to be quite unsatisfactory, and almost nugatory. 
It may be doubted whether either of them had 
ever told the other of his regard. " Yours 
always," in writing, was the warmest term that 
was ever used. Neither ever dreamed of sug- 
gesting that the absence of the other would be a 



MEN AND WOMEN. 25 

cause of grief or even of discomfort. They 
would bicker with each other, and not unfre- 
quently abuse each other. Chance threw them 
much together, but they never did anything to 
assist chance. Women who love each other as 
well will always be expressing their love, always 
making plans to be together, always doing little 
things each for the gratification of the other, — 
constantly making presents backward and for- 
ward. These two men had never given any- 
thing, one to the other, beyond a worn-out walk- 
ing-stick or a cigar. They were rough to each 
other, caustic and almost ill-mannered. But they 
thoroughly trusted each other; and the happi- 
ness, prosperity, and, above all, the honor of the 
one, were to the other, matters of keenest 
moment. 

" Yicar of Bullhampton." — Anthony Trollope. 

The match-making of mothers is the natural 
result of mothers' love, for the ambition of one 
woman for another is never other than this — 



26 



MEN AND WOMEN. 



that the one loved by her shall be given to a man 
to be loved more worthily. 

" Yicae of Buklhampton." — Anthony Trollope. 

She was like a breeze that set everything flut- 
tering, and left the whole house freshened after 
she had passed on. 

" The Gaywoethys. "—Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 





LOVE. 

There are some people that we love so in- 
tensely that we can hardly speak even of our 
own love for them without tears. 

"Bed as a Bose is She."— BJioda Broughton. 

Where man's thoughts are all noble and gen- 
erous, woman's feelings all gentle and pure, love 
may follow, if it does not precede ; and if not — 
if the roses be missed from the garland, one may 
sigh for the rose, but one is safe from the thorn. 

" My Novel." — Bulwer. 

Love, at last, shall lave the feet that never 
wearied running on love's errands. 

"Peter Carradeste." — Caroline Chesebro\ 

(27) 



28 LOVE. 

" Well, but Arthur, did she marry him after 
all ? " 

Arthur looked wistfully a moment at his aunt. 

" Marry him ! Bless you, no, Aunt Wirmifred. 
She was a goddess. Goddesses don't marry." 

Aunt Winnifred did not answer. Her eyes 
softened like eyes that see days and things far 
away — like eyes in which shines the love of a 
heart that, under those conditions, would rather 

not be a goddess. 

"Tbtimps." — Geo. Wm. Curtis. 

Tony knew nothing of love personally ; like 
Miss Surtown, he had never had any time for it, 
but he felt interested in the love affairs of those 
two young folks. It was like reading a pretty 
poem ; and Tony really had some taste for 
poetry or a delicious little bit of fiction, and was 
fond of a clever story or a good novel. It was a 
little bit of romance introduced into his life, like 
a sweet song in a woman's voice mingling its 



LOVE. 29 

melody with all the discordant cries and clamors 
of a mob at election-time. 

" The Love that Lived."— Mrs. Eiloart 

First love ! It is but a word : yet, like that 
fabled word which only to pronounce would raise 
the dead, it has strange magic in it, and opens 
wide the sepulchres of the past ! 

" The Ladder of Life." — Amelia B. Edwards. 

If, instead of the neatly-rounded, reciprocal 
passions of three-volume fiction, the crude, un- 
finished love-stories of all hearts could be made 
known, I wonder which of the world's imperial 
Libraries would have space to hold the romances 
that might be written ? 
" Steven Lawrence, Yeoman."— Mrs. Annie Edwards. 

Oh, thou, whoever thou art, who hast guard- 
ianship over one fond heart, fear not to breathe 
in words the tenderness thou art content only to 
feel. Break down the barrier of pride that op- 
poses thine utterance, and let thy words gush 



30 LOVE. 

forth in showers of tenderness, fertilizing the dry 
and thirsty heart. The time may soon come 
when the hand which now seeks the warm pres- 
sure of yours will be cold and pulseless, — when 
the rosy doors of speech, which your silence has 
so often closed, will be shut forever : for there is 
no voice in the grave, nor any fond device. The 
electric wire is broken that sent the thrill from 
heart to heart. The lightning glance is quenched 
in night. The living is cut off from the dead. 
Love stands shivering on the brink of the divid- 
ing chasm, and over its bridgeless depths goes 
forth the wailing accents : 

" Come back, poor cheated heart, receive all 
the wealth of which thou hast been defrauded. 
Roll away the stone from the door of the sepul- 
chre, even as I roll it away from the gates of 
speech, and learn the height, the length, the 
depth, of my unuttered love." 

" Kobeet Geaham." — Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 

It is a wonderful subduer, this need of love — 



LOVE. 31 

this hunger of the heart — as peremptory as that 
other hunger by which Nature forces us to sub- 
mit to the yoke, and change the face of the 
world. 

" Mill on the Floss." — Marian Evans Lewes. 

It is one of the most exquisite properties of 
love that thus in its trial-time it makes mean 
things sacred. I have said "in its trial-time/' 
because the glorious glamour then prevails with 
all, but only with the few lasts on and on beyond 
the trial-time and forever, so that the love of 
Rachel glorifies Jacob in his fields and his 
ploughing, even when the hairs of both are 
whitening and their period of probation has be- 
come a fading memory. It is not loves' fault, 
but ours' — the fault of heedlessness and selfish- 
ness, of the world, the flesh, and the devil — 
that the glorifying power ever loses its command 
over any life. 

" Lady Judith." — Justin McCarthy. 

Perhaps next to the pleasure of doing all for 



32 LOVE. 

those we love best, the joy of receiving all ranks 

highest. 

" The Quiet Heart."— Mrs. OlipJiant. 

Surely love, if nothing else, inclines the soul 
to feel its helplessness and be prayerful, to place 
its treasures in a Father's hand. 

" My Wife and I."— Mrs. H. B. Stowe. 

Despite the wealth of womanly feeling that 
had been aroused in her recently, she was more 
of a child than ever in her manner to her parents 
that night. Perhaps it was the knowledge that 
she was longing to try her wings abroad that 
made her fold them so softly now. 

" Theo. Leigh." — Annie Thomas. 

Life was so sweet ; love was so all-sufficient. 
The vivid days and perfumed nights were a part 
of the all pervading blessedness. In the morn- 
ing she awoke, with lids like unclosing lilies feel- 
ing the sunlight before they part ; at night, she 
slept, the leaves of her soul fast-folded over odo- 
rous dews of dreams. 

" Too True."— Mrs. Victor. 




SORROW. 



What mortal strength can be sufficient for 
the weight of the great chain of discipline that 
goes through every life, and binds it to the eter- 
nal shore beyond the waves of this troublesome 
world ? No mortal strength can ; its accumu- 
lated weight, only for an instant, would sink the 
stoutest struggler ; but, link by link, not looking 
impatiently beyond, but looking patiently down, 
humbly and faithfully accepting it as the only 
means of safety, hard and rough and heavy as it 
maybe, it can be borne, and it will bring us 
surely to the haven where we would be. But, 
greedy of our sorrow as of our pleasure, vehe- 
ment and unreasonable, we drag a weight upon 

(33) 



34 SORROW. 

ourselves we have no warrant to suppose we 
shall have power to bear, and struggling, half 
crushed beneath the selfishly and morbidly re- 
tained burden of yesterday, and the dreaded but 
yet unbestowed calamity of to-morrow, we ques- 
tion, in our intolerable distress, if God has not 
broken His promise that we shall not be tempted 
above what we are able to bear. No vef ily ; but 
we have broken faith with Him. We have not 
believed that one day's evil was sufficient for it, 
but have pulled down upon it the evil of many ; 
and so, very likely, our punishment is greater 
than we can bear. 

"The Southeklands," Author of" Kutledge." 

How often when we go about in the thorough- 
fares of a great city, we may be close to persons 
whose souls are filled with tumultuous agitation, 
whose destinies are hanging on a thread, or 
whose hopes have been suddenly crushed, who 
may have just taken a fatal or an heroic resolu- 
tion, and we know it not ! Children of the same 
Father in heaven — all creatures of God, and 



sorrow. 35 

members of the same race — we remain stran- 
gers to all but a few of that vast kindred of ours. 
Isolated by the boundless size of the great human 
family, it is only when some great visible calam- 
ity, or some casual event, breaks the silent 
barrier between man and man, that the relation- 
ship is felt and acknowledged. Have we not 
sometimes seen a face in the streets, or in a car- 
riage in the parks, which has dwelt in our recol- 
lections from its expression of more than com- 
mon mental anguish, and we have prayed that 
our common Father may take pity on that un- 
known brother or sister, and send them Him 
who is emphatically called the Comforter. Per- 
haps such prayers have been said for us erewhile, 
and drawn down upon us some secret blessings. 
" Mbs. Gerald's Niece." — Lady Georgiana Fullerton. 

It would not do to say that Realmah never 
smiled again ; but it might be true to say that 
he hereafter designed his smiles and never fin- 
ished them. 

" Realmah."— Sir Arthur Helps. 



$6 SORROW. 

The little graves, alas ! how many they are ! 
The mourners above them, how vast the multi- 
tude ! Brothers, sisters, I am one with you. I 
press your hands, I weep with you, I trust with 
you, I belong to you. Those waxen folded 
hands, that still breast so often pressed warm to 
our own, those sleep-bound eyes which have been 
so full of love and life, that sweet, unmoving, 
alabaster face — ah ! we have all looked upon 
them, and they have made us one and made us 
better. There is no fountain which the angel of 
healing troubles with his restless and life-giving 
wings so constantly as the fountain of tears, and 
only those too lame and bruised to bathe miss 
the blessed influence. 

" Aethuk Bonnicastle."— Dr. J. G. Holland. 

He had too much respect for sorrow to ap- 
proach it with curiosity. He had learned to put 
off his shoes when he drew nigh the burning 
bush of human pain. 

" Robert Faeconee." — George MacDonald. 



sorrow. 37 

What is a man's first exclamation when he 
is shot through the lungs ? What is the first 
outcry of despair from a broken heart ? In either 
case the sufferer calls instinctively on his Maker. 
Be he a poor workman in a foundery, an obscure 
private in the ranks, or one who has spent his 
life in purple and fine linen, with all that the 
world holds best worth having at his feet, each 
child in its extremity appeals almost uncon- 
sciously to its Father. The soul flying to the 
lips renders this involuntary homage to its God. 
" Good for Nothing." — Whyte Melville. 

" Woe's me ! it is a hard thing, whether it be 
in age or youth, to sound the deepness of folk's 
own spirit, and try how far down the pain can 

go-" 

" M arg abet Maitland." — Mrs. Oliphant. 

There is one misery, and perhaps only one in 
the long category of human ills, to which the 
mind cannot shape itself or get accustomed, 
namely,, the torture of suspense. What we know 



38 SORROW. 

and can see the end of, though that end be deso- 
lation and blank death — the loss of all ( for it 
seems all) we love — can in the end, be borne. 
Time, though we so passionately deny its power 
to do so, does heal that wound ; the cure is slow, 
perhaps ; it may take years, and every year to us 
a century ; and now and again the wound, 
touched by some thoughtless hand, or touched 
by none — the revisiting a once-loved scene, a 
sound remembered, the scent of a living flower, 
or the sight of a dead one — any one of these 
may cause it to bleed afresh, as on the first day 
of loss ; yet the cure is certain. But for Sus- 
pense there is no cure, no intermission, no relief. 
The sense of loss, however great and overwhelm- 
ing, is occasionally forgotten ; the mind escapes 
from it, and wanders free, or sinks exhausted 
with its burden into slumber. Occupation is 
more or less possible to us ; the voice of genius 
can pierce through the mists of time, and absorb 
us for a little in its magic words. If music can- 
not charm us from our melancholy, it can soften 



sorrow. 39 

it, for it is the fountain of tears ; but Suspense 
has no such assuagement. Books cannot rivet 
its eye, nor music its ear. It resents such 
would-be alleviations, as the sick babe in pain 
resents its nurse's lullabies. They hinder it 
from its one function of employment, which is to 
watch, to listen, to anticipate the evil that is 
about to fall, it knows not whence, and fulfill the 
haunting presage of Ruin. 

" The Best of Husbands." — James Payn. 

" But when the hour of trouble comes to the 
mind or to the body — and seldom may it visit 
your Leddyship — and when the hour of death 
comes, that comes to high and low — lang and 
late may it be yours ! Oh, my Leddy, then it is 
na what we hae dune for oursells, but what we 
hae dune for others, that we think on maist 
pleasantly." 

" Heart of Mid-Lothian."— Sir Walter Scott 

In the first agony of a great grief we can all 
be unreserved ; but when sorrow has settled 



40 SORROW. 

itself into its place, and made for itself the home 
in our memories in which it must dwell till death, 
we can no longer bear that the eye of a fellow- 
creature should gaze upon it. 

" Ivoes. "—Miss Sewall. 

Human creatures are like climates — some of 
a temperate atmosphere, take even life-long sor- 
row serenely — never forgetting, and never exag- 
gerating its cause — never very wretched, if 
never quite happy. Others of a more torrid 
nature, have long sunny seasons of bird-like 
cheerfulness and happy forgetfulness, until some 
slight cause, striking " the electric chain where- 
with we are darkly bound," shall startle up mem- 
ory — and grief, intensely realized, shall rise to 
anguish, and a storm shall pass through the soul, 

shaking it almost to dissolution 

But the storm passes, and nature, instead of 
being destroyed, is refreshed and ready for the 
sunshine and the song-birds again. The elastic 
heart throws off its weight, the spirits revive, 



SORROW. 41 

and life goes on joyously in harmony with 
nature. 
" The Missing Bkide. "—Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. 

At certain periods of life we live years of emo- 
tion in a few weeks — and look back on those 
times, as on great gaps between the old life and 
the new. You do not know how much you suf- 
fer in those critical maladies of the heart, until 
the disease is over and you look back on it after- 
ward. During the time the suffering is at least 
sufferable. The day passes in more or less of 
pain, and the night wears away somehow. 'Tis 
only in after days that we see what the danger 
has been — as a man out a hunting or riding for 
his life looks at a leap, and wonders how he 
should have survived the taking of it. 

" Henry Esmond."— W. M. Thackeray. 




WORDS OF TRUTH." 



We do not require the expression in words of 
sympathy — it is an indescribable something that 
betrays its existence. 

" Home Influence." — Grace Aguilar. 

" It is an excellent plan to have some place 
where we can go to be quiet, when things vex 
or grieve us. There are a good many hard times 
in this life of ours, but we can always bear them 
if we ask help in the right way." 

" Little Women." (Yol. I.) — Louisa M. Alcott. 

" It's not half so sensible to leave a lot of leg- 
acies when one dies, as it is to use the money 

(42) 



"words of truth. 43 

wisely while alive, and enjoy making one's fellow- 
creatures happy with it." 

"Little Women." (Yol. II.) — Louisa M. Alcott. 

" Know your own affairs yourself, and don't 
be content to see them through other people's 
glasses." 

" Which shall it be ? " — Mrs. Alexander. 

We may always know something of people's 
characters by the things with which they sur- 
round themselves. 

"Nothing but Money."— T. S. Arthur. 

Into even the desire to benefit others flows a 
blessing — how much higher the blessing for 
those who make desire an ultimate actuality. 

"Nothing but Money." — T. S. Arthur. 

" The Word of God is like music. Every 
hearer, though there should be hundreds and 
hundreds of them, takes the whole without rob- 
bing his neighbor." 

" Edelweiss."— Berthold Auerbach. 



44 "WORDS OF TRUTH. 

Feeling without judgment is a washy draught 
indeed ; but judgment untempered by feeling is 
too bitter and husky a morsel for human degluti- 
tion. 

" Jane Eyre."— Charlotte Bronte. 

The best teacher is the one who suggests 
rather than dogmatizes, and inspires his listener 
with the wish to teach himself. 

" Kenelm Chillingey." — Bulwer. 

" Alas ! we interpret duty so variously. Of 
mere duty, as we commonly understand the 
word, I do not think I shall fail more than othet 
men. But for the fair development of all the 
good that is in us, do you believe that we should 
adopt some line of conduct against which our 
whole heart rebels ? Can you say to the clerk, 
' Be a poet ? ' Can you say to the poet, ' Be a 
clerk ? ' It is no more to the happiness of a 
man's being to order him to take to one career 
when his whole heart is set on another, than it is 
to order him to marry one woman when it is to 



"WORDS OF TRUTH. 45 

another woman that his heart will turn 

By the word happiness I would signify, not the 
momentary joy of a child who gets a plaything, 
but the lasting harmony between our inclinations 
and our objects ; and without that harmony we 
are a discord to ourselves, we are incompletions/ 
we are failures. Yet there are plenty of advisers 
who say to us, ' It is a duty to be a discord.' I 
deny it." 

" Kenelm Chillingly." — Bulwer. 

In the life of most there come, at times, great 
fiery trials or strong temptations ; and as those 
trials are received, as those temptations are 
yielded to or resisted, so do they work for our 
weal or woe — so does our spiritual life progress 
or deteriorate. Not for nothing are they sent to 
us, those trials and temptations ; and if they 
work as they are meant, a great onward stride 
will often at once be made in a life which might 
otherwise have remained stagnant for many a 
year. 

"Elena."— Z. N. Comyn. 



46 "WORDS OF TRUTH." 

Heaven sometimes converts our impossibles 
and inevitables into the very best blessings we 
have — most right, most natural, and most dear. 
" Christian's Mistake."— Mrs. Muloch Craik. 

Oh ! the blessing it is to have a friend to 
whom one can speak fearlessly on any subject ; 
with whom one's deepest as well as one's most 
foolish thoughts come out simply and safely. 
Ob, the comfort — the inexpressible comfort of 
feeling safe with a person — having neither to 
weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring 
them all right out, just as they are, chaff and 
grain together ; certain that a faithful hand will 
take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, 
and then with the breath of kindness blow the 
rest away. 

"A Life for a Liee."— Mrs. Muloch Craik. 

Who ever could paint a mother's face ? It 
seems, or ought to seem, unlike every other face 
in the wide world. We have been familiar with 
it all our lives — from our cradle we have drank 



"words of truth. 47 

it in, so to speak, like mother's milk, and looked 
up to it as we looked up to the sky, long before 
we understood what.was beyond it — only feeling 
its beauty and soothing power. 

"My Mother and I." — Mrs. Muloch Craik. 

Mercifully Heaven puts into some natures, 
especially those destined for a not easy life, a 
certain celestial leaven — a sense of the heroic, 
lovely, and divine — which the world calls ro- 
mance, but which they themselves know to be 
that which sustains them in trial, braces them 
for bitter duties, comforts them when outside 
comforts are faint and few. 

" The Woman's Kingdom."— Mrs. Muloch Craik. 

Do you not now, O reader, if your years num- 
ber more than some twoscore or so, recall the 
events of your childhood more clearly than you 
could have done at eighteen ? 

In the leafy summer-time we see only the 
screen of foliage that borders our pathway. 
Every hedgerow is full of life. Every branch 



48 "WORDS OF TRUTH." 

bears its bloom. But when autumn, like some 
grave and wise enchanter of old time, touches 
the world with his golden wand, and the trans- 
muted leaves fall yellow from the bough, we look 
back through the open tracery, and the landscape 
we have traversed lies softly clear beneath our 
gaze. 

"Anne Furness." — Miss Dickens. 

" The originality of a subject is in its treat- 
ment." 

" Loth air." — Disraeli. 

It may appear strange, yet you will sometimes 
know of two people living together through 
months of silence, because the right moment 
passed without the needed words being spoken, 
and no other ever came. 

" Stephen Dane." — Amanda M. Douglass. 

No life is all sunshine, nor was it so intended. 
And yet I think God doesn't mean us to fear the 
future. We are to take up daily events with 



"WORDS OF TRUTH. 49 

hopeful hearts, and shape them into a higher 
form than crude fragments. 

"Lydnie Adrlaktce." — Amanda M. Douglass. 

People admire talent, and talk about their 
admiration. But they value common sense with- 
out talking about it, and often without know- 
ing it. 

"Mary Barton."— Mrs. Gaskell. 

" I sometimes think there's two sides to the 
commandment ; and that we may say, ' Let 
others do unto you, as you would do unto them,' 
for pride often prevents our giving others a great 
deal of pleasure, in not letting them be kind, 
when their hearts are longing to help ; and when 
we ourselves should wish to do just the same, if 
we were in their place. Oh ! how often I've 
been hurt, by being coldly told by persons not to 
trouble myself about their care, or sorrow, when 
I saw them in great grief, and wanted to be of 
comfort. Our Lord Jesus was not above letting 
folk minister to Him, for He knew how happy it 



5o 



makes one to do aught for another. It's the 
happiest work on earth." 

"Mary Barton." — Mrs. Gaskell. 

There are no secrets which yield to common- 
place or superficial inquiry. But there are none 
which do not answer the resolute student, who 
pledges his life to his investigation. There are 
no evils healed by the commonplace resolutions 
of commonplace conventions, where a hundred 
people offer each the thousandth part of a life for 
the endeavor. But no one evil stands against 
the resolute purpose of one loyal man. Let 
society tell you, in its namby-pamby editorials, 
what is everybody's business, and you will find 
laid down for you in its neutral colors a picture 
of very level backgrounds, of very vague middle 
distances, whose foregrounds are crowded with 
undecided groups of dreamers, who are all pre- 
paring to begin to try. But do you tell society 
how you mean to serve mankind, find your own 
place and strike your own blow, and society will 



"WORDS OF TRUTH. 51 

meekly obey each true word you speak, and will 
fall into order at your requisition. 

Hold to the level best which the commonplace 
of society demands of you, and you come out on 
the quagmire flat of the dismal swamp of worth- 
less indecision. 

Ask God to show your duty, and do that duty 
well ; and from that point you mount to the very 
peak of vision. It may be that you plant there 
another beacon-light for the world ! 

'• His Level Best."— Bev. E. E. Hale. 

We went on in our quiet way. Life was purer 
and simpler and less annoyed to us, because con- 
stantly, now, we met with near and dear friends 
whom we had not known a day before, and who 
looked up and not down, looked out and not in, 
looked forward and not backward, and were 
ready to lend a hand. Life seemed simpler to 
them, and it is my belief that, to all of us, in 
proportion as we bothered less about cultivating 
ourselves, and were willing to spend and be 



52 



spent for that without us, above us, and before 
us, life became infinite and this world became 
heaven. 

" Ten Times One is Ten."— Bev. E. E. Bale. 

Those who have the power of reproaching in 
silence may find it a means more effective than 
words. There are accents in the eye which are 
not on the tongue, and more tales come from 
pale lips than can enter an ear. It is both the 
grandeur and the pain of the remoter moods that 
they avoid the pathway of sound. 

"Fae from the Madding Crowd." — T. Hardy. 

" Time does not seem of the least consequence 
to most people," thought Margaret, " or money 
either, for that matter. I wonder if rich people 
dream how we covet what they waste of both." 
The remembrance of Susie, wearily tossing all 
alone through that half hour, came to her with a 
a pang. Sickness is nothing to the rich. It 
can't be half as much as it is to us, with all the 
care and anxiety it brings to poor people. I 
don't suppose it ever comes into their minds 



''WORDS OF TRUTH. 53 

what a blessing it is to be able to take care of 
those they love, and never have to leave them 
when they are suffering." 

It certainly did not come into Margaret's, — 
for we see only one side of the picture at a time, 
— how much these cares distract from the dull 
wearing anxiety of those who sit by, powerless 
to aid, yet having nothing to call their thoughts 
from the suffering they witness ! or, sadder still, 
how many are left to the care of a hireling, be- 
cause that care can be purchased, with the ready 
excuse of health and spirits suffering from such 
close confinement ! " Better the humble, self- 
sacrificing ministry of the poor, one to another, 
even though some necessities are hardly gained, 
and some comforts altogether wanting. 

" Loss and Gain." — Mrs. Alice B. Raven. 

" If you want to be an angel in heaven, you 
must begin to plume your wings now, for it takes 
a long while to soar so high. Begin now, and be 
not afraid of falling." 

"Linda." — Mrs. Caroline Lee Bentz. 



54 "WORDS OF TRUTH. 

If each one had to tell the history of fifteen 
years in his or her life, could any one of us un- 
dertake to vouch for the correctness of the 
record ? — that it should not be palliated by self- 
love, colored by fancy, softened by memory ? — 
that the mercifully effacing hand of time should 
not have swept away much of the mere material ? 
For him who should have led the most tranquil 
life in outward seeming, it would be a task of 
greater difficulty, if other than the outlines of 
that life-history were demanded, than from him 
whose way should have lain, not " in the plain 
below," but where " the wind is loudest, on the 
highest hills." The chronicle must in all cases 
imply the passing away of familiar faces ; vacant 
places by the hearth and in the heart ; wayside 
graves along the path of the journey; and those 
slow changes in one's self, which sometimes im- 
perceptibly transform the individual, with his 
circumstances and surroundings, during such an 
interval as this. When one has to tell the his- 
tory of fifteen years in the life of another, only 



"WORDS OF TRUTH. 55 

the salient points can be dwelt upon ; the cur- 
rent of time has to be crossed on stepping- 
stones. 
" The Blossoming of an Aloe." — Mrs. Cashel Hoey. 

I do not believe there can be such a thing as a 
truly religious life without prayer. The religious 
soul must hold converse and communion with 
the Infinite, or its religion cannot live. It may 
be the simple expression of gratitude and desire. 
It may be the prostration of the soul in worship 
and adoration. It may be the up-springing of 
the spirit in strong aspiration ; but in some way 
or form there must be prayer, or religion dies. 
There must be an open way between the heart 
of man and the heart of the Infinite — a ladder 
that reaches from the pillow of stone to the 
pillars of the Throne, where angels may climb 
and angels may descend — or the religious life 
of the soul can have no ministry. 

" Arthur Bonnicastle." — Dr. J. G. Holland. 

How the heart catches at the least assurance 



56 "WORDS OF TRUTH." 

of that which it longs to believe ! Oh, dry and 
dusty earth of which we are made, how soon is it 
fired by the least spark of hope ! 

"The Fate."— G. P. B. James. 

" Indifference to small neglects of duty 
leads to very serious errors ; and voluntarily to 
choose for one's acquaintance those of whose 
habits we do not approve, is a willing exposure of 
ourselves to temptation." 

" Skirmishing."— Mrs. C. Jenkins. 

" Happiness is no abstract, unchanging truth. 
What would make you happy now might make 
you wretched ten years hence ; youth is made to 
wish and dream, and life to deny youth's dreams 
and wishes. And thank God it is so, else what a 
world of unquietness and passion and restless- 
ness would this be." 

"Sybil's Second Love." — Julia Kavanagh. 

Without being sentimental or sensitive, a 
man may find it somewhat galling to realize that 
the great joy or the great sorrow that has be- 



"words of truth. 57 

fallen him does not appear to interest his neigh- 
bors in the faintest degree; and the lack of 
sympathy in the first case is almost as vexatious 
as in the last. 

" Antekos." — Geo. Lawrence. 

Amongst the strange situations in life, there 
are few stranger, or, in certain respects, more 
painful, than the meeting after long absence of 
those who, when they had parted years before, 
were on terms of closest intimacy, and who now 
see each other changed by time, with altered 
habits and manners, and impressed in a variety 
of ways with influences and associations which 
impart their own stamp on character. 

It is very difficult at such moments to remem- 
ber how far we ourselves have changed in the 
interval, and how much of what we regard as 
altered in another may not simply be the new 
standpoint from which we are looking, and thus 
our friend may be graver, or sadder, or more 
thoughtful, or, as it may happen, seem less reflec- 



58 

tive and less considerative than we have thought 
him, all because the world has been meantime 
dealing with ourselves in such wise that qualities 
we once cared for have lost much of their value, 
and others that we had deemed of slight account 
have grown into importance with us. 

"Lokd Kilgobbin." — Chas. Lever. 

Very slight words and deeds may have a sac- 
ramental efficacy, if we can cast our self-love 
behind us, in order to say or do them. 

" Felix Holt." — Marian Evans Lewes. 

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordi- 
nary human life, it would be like hearing the 
grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we 
should die of that roar which lies on the other 
side of silence. As it is, the quickest of us walk 
about well wadded with stupidity. 

" Mlddlemakch." — Marian Evans Lewes. 

When the stricken person is slow to recover 
and look as if nothing had happened, the striker 
easily glides into the position of the aggrieved 



"WORDS OF TRUTH. 59 

party; he feels no bruise himself, and is strongly- 
conscious of his own amiable behavior since he 
inflicted the blow. 

" Komola." — Marian Evans Lewes. 

" I may never have the opportunity to tell him 
I am sorry." 

" It will be told him for you, Ethel." 

" I may have to pass my life without seeing 
him again." 

" But not without One who loves you far more 
than Cousin Thomas does ; who suffers with 
every pain experienced by your heart, and echoes 
every repentant sigh you heave. O Ethel!" 
with clasped hands, falling on her knees beside 
the bed ; " do try to believe that He is by you at 
this very moment, hearing every word, reading 
each thought, and able by a breath to fulfill your 
dearest wishes if you make them known to 
Him." 

" I have forgotten Him so long," said Lady 
Ethel in a low voice. 



60 "WORDS OF TRUTH." 

" He has never forgotten you, dear." 
"But that makes it so much harder. How 
can I go to Him just because I want something, 
when I never remembered Him in my happi- 
ness ? It seems so mean." 

" Nothing can be mean, dear, that brings us to 
His feet. And it is so sweet, while kneeling 
there, to think that He knows everything. 
There is no occasion even to speak to Him ; our 
tears are all the explanation that He needs." 

" Her Lord and Master." — Florence Marry att. 

" You have a wonderful power, Mervyn, of 
putting away from your thoughts anything you 
do not wish to think of, haven't you ? It is a 
happy knack. But it is only a knack. I cannot 
give it a higher name. I have been thinking it 
is perhaps braver to look things firmly in the 
face than to put them so entirely away." 

"Thrown Together." — Florence Montgomery. 

" Falsehood is never easy, dear Eleanor; peo- 
ple seize it as a shield, and it turns to a spear in 



"WORDS OF TRUTH." 6l 

their hands, to pierce the bosoms it was meant 
to protect." 

" Stuabt of Dunleath." — Ron. Mrs. Norton. 

Last words and death-bed scenes occur oftener 
in books than in reality. 

Last words are oftener the mutterings of some 
perhaps trivial dream, — the request for some 
comfort, or some change of pillows ; the grateful 
recognition of some loved one, — than phrases 
which contain the full expression of the life- 
thought, or maxims which shall be the guidance 
of those who remain behind. Our lives, not our 
death-beds, most furnish these. 
" GrEOKGY Sandon; ob, A Lost Love." — Ashford Owen. 

" The only true way to live in this world, con- 
stituted just as we are, is to make all our employ- 
ments subserve the one great end and aim of 
existence, namely, to glorify God, and to enjoy 
Him forever. But in order to do this, we must 
be wise task-masters, and not require of our- 



62 



selves what we cannot possibly perform. Recre- 
ation we must have. Otherwise, the strings of 
our soul, wound up to an unnatural tension, will 
break." 

" Stepping Heaveitwabd. "—Mrs. E. Prentiss. 

It is one great characteristic of genius to do 
great things with little things. 

"Peg Woffington." — Chas. Beade. 

Passing through the world's long picture- 
gallery, it is oftentimes not the great paintings, 
not the court ceremonials, not the huge sea- 
pieces, not the representations of battle-fields, 
not the important portraits and the historical 
incidents which are photographed on our memo- 
ries, which are stamped on our mental retina so 
indelibly that through the years they are never 
forgotten. It is not the large finished pictures 
which we went out to see, which we took, per- 
haps, much notice of at the time, that stay with 
us and remain in our memories longest ; rather 



63 

it is the figure of some beggar child, the little 
glimpse of woodland scenery, the barren bleak- 
ness of some desolate moor, the hopeless languor 
of a dying man's hand, — these are the trifles, 
which, God knows why, we carry away with us. 
The scenes of great account at which we have 
been present, on which we have gazed, in which, 
perchance, we have been actors, pale and fade 
away from the canvas of our brains ; but so long 
as memory remains, there are slight gestures and 
passing expressions which recur to us again and 
again, and which will recur, till life leaves us and 
the mould be heaped over the spot where we lie. 
"Far Above Rubies."— Mrs. J. H. Biddell. 

There is nothing like religion lived out to 
open a heart closed against it. 

" Opening of a Chestnut Burr." — Bev. E. P. Boe. 

What a heaven earth would be could we 
always appreciate all we have as keenly as we do 
when on the point of losing it ! 

"Against Time." Alexander Junes Shand. 



64 "WORDS OF TRUTH." 

I am not aware that either she or Tasso Smith 
ever received for their misdeeds what the world 
calls punishment. But that any one is permitted 
to live on, unrepentant and unchecked, a life of 
selfishness, is perhaps, in the sight of a higher 
Wisdom, the greatest punishment of all. 

"Neighbor's Wives."— J". T. Trowbridge. 

She came across some things that were cast 
aside as utterly worthless, and not a few that she 
hesitated to destroy, and finally put back again 
in their old places. How many such trifles we 
carry with us through life ! — an end of ribbon, 
a few written lines, a faded flower, or some such 
insignificant memento ! The article has lost all 
its real significance, for we forget it until chance 
drops it into our hands ; but, why destroy it ? 
Grant it a quiet resting-place where it has lain 
hitherto, because it was once dear to us. Those 
who come after us will make merry over such 
old odds and ends, and there will be short work 
with them one day. 

"Why did he not Die ?" — Ad. Von. Volckhansen. 



WORDS OF TRUTH. 



65 



" It is like a fool to go back from what one has 
once begun." 

" No, it is like a brave man, when one has 
begun wrong," said Friedel. 

"Dove in the Eagle's Nest."— C. M. Tonge. 




descriptions and Scenes. 



<^i 




EARLY SPRING. 



The spring was in our valley now, creeping 
first for shelter shyly in the pause of the bluster- 
ing wind. There the lambs came bleating to 
her, and the orchis lifted up, and the thin dead 
leaves of clover lay for the new ones to spring 
through. Then the stiffest things that sleep, 
the stubby oak, and the saplin'd beech, dropped 
their brown defiance to her, and prepared for a 
soft reply. While her overeager children (who 
had started forth to meet her, through the frost 
and shower of sleet ), catkin'd hazel, gold-gloved 
withy, youthful elder, and old woodbine, with all 
the tribe of good hedge-climbers (who must 

hasten while haste they may ) — was there one 

(69) 



JO EARLY SPRING. 

of them that did not claim the merit of coming 
first ? 

There she staid and held her revel, as soon as 
the fear of frost was gone ; all the air was a 
fount of freshness, and the earth of gladness, 
and the laughing waters prattled of the kindness 
of the sun. 

"Loena Doone."— B. D. Blackmore. 

How do one's hopes take wing in this blos- 
soming season ! I look around me with a thrill- 
ing consciousness of coming enjoyment. The 
lawn, so lately withered and brown ; is covered 
with a fresh velvet carpet of the softest, deepest 
green. The trees, in their holiday robes, and 
decked out with gay, fluttering trimmings, clap 
their hands for joy. 

Not yet is nature's life-giving sap exhausted. 
I feel it in my veins. It rejuvenates me, as it 
does everything I see and hear. Hark ! How 
brimful of it is that robin's song ! And my can- 
ary, hanging out of my window, breathes the 



EARLY SPRING. Jl 

subtle oxygen, and pipes a sweeter, madder lay 
than has gladdened me all winter long. 

Hearing such music, gazing on such a land- 
scape, I can be hopeful, trusting. Strengthen 
me, O Father, to wait thy time — even if I wait 
till the eternal morning dawns on my weary eyes. 
Let my blind human will fold its fluttering wings 
in thy presence. I would taste no cup of merely 
earthly joy. I ask for nothing that is unsweet- 
ened by thy love. 

"Esperance." — Meta Lander. 

A fortnight of warm clear weather had ex- 
tracted the last fang of frost, and there was 
already green grass in the damp hollows. Blue- 
birds picked the last year's berries from the 
cedar-trees, buds were bursting on the swamp- 
willows ; the alders were hung with tassels, and 
a powdery, crimson bloom began to dust the bare 
twigs of the maple trees. , 

"Story of Kennett." — Bayard Taylor. 




MAY. — JUNE. 



MAY. 



It was now the middle of May, and the land 
was clothed in tender green, and filled with the 
sweet breath of sap, and bud, and blossom. The 
vivid emerald of the willow-trees, the blush of 
orchards, and the cones of snowy bloom along 
the woodsides, shone through and illumined even 
the days of rain. 

" Story of Kennett." — Bayard Taylor. 

JUNE. 



How often in the days and years that fol- 
lowed did Hadassah recall that saying! Always 

(72) 



JUNE 



73 



with the memory of the clear, warm June noon 
strong upon her, the shady road along which 
they drove slowly, the smell of wild thyme and 
brook-mint, and other fragrant grasses, as the 
wheels crushed the wayside herbage, even the 
bevies, of yellow butterflies that whirled up like 
animated buttercups from the damp spots in the 
highway, to settle down upon like inviting- 
patches a little way ahead. 

"Teue as Steel." — Marion Harland. 




JULY 



It was in the very flush of summer, the ripe, 
rich month of July. The last of the hay had 
been carried, but tangled whisps of sweet-scented 
grass still hung here and there on the brambles 
of the dog-roses in the narrow lanes, where the 
wagons had been hard pushed to pass between 
luxuriant boundaries of sloe and blackberry, wild 
rose and woodbine. This particular July had 
begun with almost tropical splendor. The ther- 
mometer ( there was only one in the village, by- 
the-way, at the post-office and chemist's shop ) 
had been at eighty for the last week, and even 
after sunset there was a sultry heat like the 

atmosphere of a hot-house. This summer glow 

174) 



july. 75 

was odorous with the spicy breath of the pines, 

the rich perfume of clove carnations, the more 
delicate scent of bean fields, and the sweet-pea 
hedges that brightened cottage gardens. For an 
utterly idle existence — the life of those pigs, for 
instance, which lay flat on their sides on the 
patch of grass before the farm-yard gate, and 
simply reveled in the sunshine — Hedingham in 
a hot summer was a most delicious place, a very 
valley of sensuous delights. But for the majority 
of mankind, who had to work hard, this weather 

was a trifle too warm Happy those 

whose work lay on the hill-tops, when they could 
gaze on the wide, cool sea. Happier still, or so 
it seemed to the landsmen, the fishermen yonder 
far out upon the blue, whose brown sail flapped 
lazily in the faint summer wind. 

"Taken at the Flood." — Miss Br addon. 



EARLY AUTUMN. 



A wondrously beautiful autumn, with mild 
golden days, and clear starry nights, brooded 
over the country. Everywhere summer roses 
bloomed in the gardens beside the asters, and the 
forests were very slow in decking themselves in 
brilliant hues. The air was so still that the 
floating threads of gossamer scarcely stirred, and 
when a leaf fell it remained just where it touched 
the ground. The birds of passage had paused in 
their migration, and chirped and twittered among 
the fields and hedges with their merry little 
voices, while in the evening the wild swans, 
which usually, long ere this time, had soared 
away on their strong white wings, called to each 
other along the shore. 

" What th|: Swallow Sang." — F. Spielhagen. 
(76) 




OCTOBER. 



It was a clear October day, warm with golden- 
tinted sunlight, the air scented from cut corn- 
fields and the neighboring cedar thickets, the 
outline of the forest trees about him defined, 
solid and dark, upon the grass at his feet, while 
the flying clouds overhead threw vapory waves 
of mist upon the sunny slopes of yellow stubble 
beyond, that came and faded over them, like 
mere dreams of shadow 

The day deepened into noon ; a thorough 
autumn day, gathering warmth, and color, and 

field-scents with every breath; a moist air stirred 

(T7) 



yS OCTOBER. 

the half-dried, red leaves overhead, and sent them 
rustling to their feet. A bird, whose nest was 
in the lilac bushes near, twittered and hopped on 
the fence fearlessly, so absolute was the silence 
of the two men who sat patiently watching, hour 
after hour. 

At length a floating cloud cooled and grayed 
the noonday, and just then a woman's clear 
laugh, followed by the roll of wheels, echoed 
along the shady, narrow lane. 

" Waiting foe the Vekdict." — Mrs. B. H. Davis. 





INDIAN SUMMER. 



It was the balmiest of Indian summer days. 
The slight chill of the morning had melted into 
an atmosphere of purple and amber, perfumed 
with fallen leaves, whose gorgeous fragments 
were scattered everywhere along her path. An 
amethystine haze hung above and around the 
Highlands, casting a thin veil over the deep blue 
of the Hudson. The fields Were brown, the 
forests lay like patches of gold and carmine on 
the hill-sides ; no artist could hope to transcribe 
that melancholy splendor of coloring and tone ; 
no heart, not in harmony with nature's and 
touched by sorrow, to feel the full influence of 
this pathetic beauty of blighted summer. 

"Too Tkue."— Mrs. Victor. 
(79) 




A WINTER NIGHT. 



Arne went to the other window, and looked 
out also. Indoors it was warm and quiet ; out- 
doors it was cold, and a sharp wind swept 
through the vale, bending the branches of the 
trees, and making their shadows creep trembling 
on the snow. A light shone over from the par- 
sonage, then vanished, then appeared again, 
taking various shapes and colors, as a distant 
light always seems to do when one looks at it 
long and intently. Opposite, the mountain stood 
dark, with deep shadow at its foot, where a thou- 
sand fairy tales hovered ; but with its snowy 
(80) 



A WINTER NIGHT. 



8l 



upper plains bright in the moonlight. The stars 
were shining, and northern lights were flickering 
in one quarter of the sky, but they did not 
spread. A little way from the window, % down 
toward the water, stood some trees, whose shad- 
ows kept stealing over to each other; but the 
tall ash stood alone, writing on the snow. 

" Aene." — Bjornson. 





BIRDS AND THE GREAT WINTER. 



One thing struck me with some- surprise, as I 
made off for our fireside (with a strong determi- 
nation to heave an ash-tree up the chimney- 
place ), and that was how the birds were going, 
rather than flying as they used to fly. All the 
birds were set in one direction, steadily journey- 
ing westward ; not with any heat of speed, 
neither flying far at once ; but all ( as if on busi- 
ness bound) partly running, partly flying, partly 
fluttering along ; silently, and without a voice, 
neither pricking head nor tail. This movement 
of the birds went on even for a week or more ; 

(82) 



BIRDS AND THE GREAT WINTER. 83 

every kind of thrushes passed us, every kind of 
wild fowl ; even plovers went away, and crows, 
and snipes, and woodcocks. And before half 
the frost was over, all we had in the snowy 
ditches were hares so tame that we could pat 
them ; partridges that came to hand, with a dry 
noise in their crops ; heath-poults, making cups 
of snow ; and a few poor hopping red-wings, 
flipping in and out the hedge, having lost the 
power to fly. And all the time their great black 
eyes, set with gold around them, seemed to look 
at *r\y iAa.n, for mercy and for comfort. 

"Loena Doone."— B. D. Blackmore. 





THE WINTER SUN. 



When the sun burst forth at last upon that 
world of white, what he brought was neither 
warmth, nor cheer, nor hope of softening ; only 
a clearer shaft of cold, from the violent depths 
of sky. Long-drawn alleys of white haze seemed 
to lead toward him, yet such as he could not 
come down, with any warmth remaining. Broad 
white curtains of the frost — fog looped around 
the lower sky, on the verge of hill and valley, 
and above the laden trees. Only round the sun 
himself, and the spot of heaven he claimed, clus- 
tered a bright purple-blue, clear, and calm, and 
deep. 

"Lorna Doone.'" — R. D. Blaclcmore. 
(84) 




Snow-clad forest. 



CHRISTMAS-TIME. 






In the meantime Christmas was near at hand. 
He strode through the Thuringian forest clad in 
an icy coat of mail, and trailing his snow-cloak 
across the very thresholds and window-ledges 
of the low peasant cots ; frosty tears hung upon 
his eyelashes, and the wind of his breath sent all 
genial life to take shelter behind thick walls and 
beneath roofs ; but the crown of firs upon his 
dear and sacred brow shone like a royal diadem ; 
the cold, wintry sun gleamed unveiled in the 
clear blue sky, awakening pale sparks in every 
icicle ; and now, here and there, some young, 
slender evergreen is doomed to the axe, — there 
it stood, dreaming in its dim, wintry repose of 
growing tall and great, of the time when its 

(85) 



86 CHRISTMAS-TIME. 

slender trunk would stretch aloft into the blue 
air, seeming to touch the golden stars with its 
topmost boughs, of the purple blossoms which 
would shine amid its branches, and, caressed by 
the warm sunlight, fling their beauty abroad into 
the world ; — and suddenly it wakes, roused by a 
warm, genial atmosphere ; its little boughs will 
never touch the skies, its crimson blossoms must 
always slumber, but surely the stars have fallen 
down from on high, and are glimmering upon its 
little branches, — the poor terrified fir has be- 
come a flower, the glowing, magic flower of the 
winter. 

Oh, happy, blessed Christmas-time ! 

" Countess Gisela." — E. Marlitt. 




DAYBREAK IN THE COUNTRY. 






Whether she slept or not that night Bath- 
sheba was not clearly aware. But it was with a 
freshened existence and a cooler brain that, a 
long time afterwards, she became conscious of 
some interesting proceedings which were going 
on in the trees above her head and around. 

A coarse-throated chatter was the first sound. 

It was a sparrow just waking. 

Next : " Chee-weeze-weeze-weeze ! " from an- 
other retreat. 

It was a finch. 

Third : " Tink-tink-tink-tink-a-chink ! " from 
the hedge. 

It was a robin. 

" Chuck-chuck-chuck ! " overhead. 

(87) 



88 DAYBREAK IN THE COUNTRY. 

A squirrel. 

Then, from the road, " With my ra-ta-ta, and 
my rum-tum-tum ! " 

It was a ploughboy. Presently he came oppo- 
site, and she believed from his voice that he was 
one of the boys on her own farm. He was fol- 
lowed by a shambling tramp of heavy feet, and, 
looking through the ferns, Bathsheba could just 
discern in the wan light of daybreak a team of 
her own horses. They stopped to drink at a 
pond on the other side of the way. She watched 
them flouncing into the pool, drinking, tossing 
up their heads, drinking again, the water drib- 
bling from their lips in silver threads. There 
was another flounce, and they came out of the 
pond, and turned back again towards the farm. 
" Far from the Madding Crowd." — T. Hardy. 




SUNRISE. 



The next morning he was awake at early 
dawn, hearing the birds at the window. He rose 
and went out. The air was clear and fresh as a 
new-made soul. Bars of mottled cloud were bent 
across the eastern quarter of the sky, which lay 
like a great ethereal ocean ready for the launch 
of the ship of glory that was now gliding towards 
its edge. Everything was waiting to conduct 
him across the far horizon to the south, where 
lay the stored-up wonder of his coming life. The 
lark sang of something greater than he could 
tell ; the wind got up, whispered at it, and lay 
down to sleep again ; the sun was at hand to 

bathe the world in the light and gladness alone 

(89) 



'90 SUNRISE. 

fit to typify the radiance of Robert's thoughts. 
The clouds that formed the shore of the upper 
sea were already burning from saffron into gold. 
A moment more and the insupportable sting of 
light would shoot from behind the edge of that 
low blue hill, and the first day of his new life 
would be begun. He watched, and it came. 
The well-spring of day, fresh and exuberant as if 
now first from the holy will of the Father of 
lights, gushed into the basin of the world, and 
the world was more glad than tongue or pen can 
tell. The heart alone, filled with the supernal 
light, can surpass the marvel of such a sunrise. 
" Robert Falconer." — George MacDonald. 





EARLY MORNING. 



Early morning at Borva, fresh, luminous and 
rare ; the mountains in the south grown pale 
and cloud-like under a sapphire sky ; the sea 
ruffled into a darker blue by a light breeze from 
the west : and the sunlight lying hot on the red 
gravel and white shells around MacKenzie's 
house. There is an odor of sweetbrier about, 
hovering in the warm, still air, except at such 
times as the breeze freshens a bit, and brings 
round the shoulder of the hill the cold, strange 
scent of the rocks and the sea beyond. 

"APkincess of Thtjle." — William Black. 

(91) 




SUNSET IN THE VALLEY. 



It was an intensely picturesque scene that 

met Clandia's artist-eye as she reached the 

level, and then looked down into the little hollow 

scooped just over its lee shoulder. The sun was 

setting, and the gorse and heather were just 

changing from gold and purple into rosy grey. 

Beyond stretched a broad valley, with a lake-like 

river of dull silver in the middle distance, and 

beyond that a dark, softly-outlined chain of hills, 

and beyond that the evening glow. In front of 

all was the low tent, like the last touch of peace 

upon a peaceful scene, with three human figures 

to give human interest — the grey-haired gipsy 

blowing up his fire, the young man stripped to 
(92) 



SUNSET IN THE YALLEY. 93 

the shirt and with bare arms standing by, and the 
little scarlet-hooded girl perched on the end of 
the rough stone wall, at whose feet the lurcher 
was basking in a dog's dream of a Valhalla of 
eternal hares. For sound, the rook's rearguard 
was coming restward, the grasshoppers were 
saying good-night, and the June beetles good- 
morning, while the brook was rinding his quiet 
voice that was lost by day. 

"Zelda's Fortune."— B. E. Francillon. 





SUNSET IN THE FOREST. 



The sun was setting upon one of the rich 
grassy glades of that forest, which we have men- 
tioned in the beginning of the chapter. Hun- 
dreds of broad-headed, short-stemmed, wide- 
branched oaks, which had witnessed, perhaps, 
the stately march of the Roman soldiery, flung 
their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the 
most delicious greensward ; in some places they 
were intermingled with beeches, hollies, and 
copsewood of various descriptions, so closely as 
totally to intercept the level beams of the sink- 
ing sun ; in others, they receded from each 

other, forming those long sweeping vistas, in the 
(94) 



SUNSET IN THE FORREST. 



95 



intricacy of which the eye delights to lose itself, 
while imagination considers them as the paths to 
get wilder scenes of silvan solitude. Here the 
red rays of the sun shot a broken and discolored 
light, that partially hung upon the shattered 
boughs and mossy trunks of the trees, and there 
they illuminated in brilliant patches the portions 
of turf to which they made their way. 

" Ivanhoe." — Sir Walter Scott. 




<^L® 




SUNSET IN ITALY. 



It was the hour at which Italians, whether on 
the doorsteps of narrow city alleys, or by wood- 
side, or field-side, or sea-side, so dearly love to 
come forth from the coverings of roofs, and enjoy 
the sweet influences of their delicious air and of 
the evening hour, — the hour of the Ave Maria, 
— the dear " ventiquattro," at which all toil 
ceases, and all the world may lawfully give itself 
to enjoyment. It seemed an hour which the still 
and melancholy Maremma might in a special 
manner claim as its own. The silent shores, the 
silent hills, the silent woods, gathered a special 
and expressive beauty from the lights peculiar to 
the dying hour of the day. Even the squalor of 

the miserable little town, burrowing in the sands, 
(96) 



SUNSET IN ITALY. 97 

seemed glorified into a semblance of beauty, or 
at least of harmony, with the other elements of 
the scene. But the outlook from the coast sea- 
ward was gorgeously and magnificently beauti- 
ful. The sun was falling into the western blue 
in unmitigated splendor ; and the golden path- 
way through the darkening blue of the waters 
came up from the far west like an angel's path, 
straight to the spot on the shore on which two 
women were sitting. A little behind, and to the 
right hand of them, was what is called the town, 
and every pane of glass remaining in the western 
windows of it seemed a strongly burning fire, 
under the painting of the level rays. The entire 
outline of the western Island of the Lily was 
traced in burnished gold against a purple sky. 
And all the woods and crags of the nearer Monte 
Argentario were bathed in light of every hue, 
from delicate bloom like the pink of a rose, to 
deepest indigo, warning that the glory was 
quickly passing away. 

"Leonora Casaloni." — T. Adolphus Trollope. 




NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAIN CHASM. 



Night supervened with the suddenness of a 
death which has been looked for, but which is at 
last a surprise. Shadow after shadow crept 
down the walls of the chasm, blurred its projec- 
tions, darkened its faces, and crowded its re- 
cesses. The line of sky, seen through the jagged 
and sinuous opening above, changed slowly to 
gloom and then to blackness. There was no 
light in this rocky intestine of the earth except 
the red flicker of the camp-fire. It fought feebly 
with the powers of darkness ; it sent tremulous 
despairing flashes athwart the swift ebony river ; 
it reached out with momentary gleams to the 
nearer facades of precipice ; it reeled, drooped, 
and shuddered as if in hopeless horror. Proba- 



NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAIN CHASM. 99 

bly, since the world began, no other fire lighted 
by man had struggled against the gloom of this 
tremendous amphitheatre. The darknesses were 
astonished at it, but they were also uncompre- 
hending and hostile. They refused to be dissi- 
pated, and they were victorious. 

After two hours a change came upon the 
scene. The moon rose, filled the upper air with 
its radiance, and bathed in silver the slopes of 
the mountains. The narrow belt of visible sky 
resembled a milky way. The light continued to 
descend and work miracles. Isolated turrets, 
domes, and pinnacles, came out in gleaming 
relief against the dark-blue background of the 
heavens. The opposite crest of the canon shone 
with a broad illumination. All the uncouth 
demons and monsters of the rocks awoke, glaring 
and blinking, to menace the voyagers in the 
depths below. The contrast between this super- 
eminent brilliancy and the sullen obscurity of 
the subterranean river made the latter seem 
more than ever like Styx or Acheron. 

" Overland."— J. W. Be Forest. 



A MORNING RAMBLE. 



As she opened her door to go down-stairs, 
Oscar, who had been lying in wait for her on the 
mat, jumped up with his customary boisterous 
caresses, and then stalked off before her into the 
porch, as if inviting her to come out and taste 
the delicious May morning in all its dewy 
freshness. She followed, and stayed long, gazing 
up and down the dale, with that delicious, inde- 
finable exhilaration throbbing at her heart which 
is, perhaps, youth's greatest riches. She felt 
obliged to give it expression, and said aloud to 
the stag-hound, who was gratefully snuffing up 
the warm air, as if he too enjoyed the change of 
weather, — 

" I feel all glorious, Oscar ! don't you ? " to 
(100) 



A MORNING RAMBLE. IOI 

which he responded in dog fashion, with a short 
bark and a heavy flourish of his great tail. 

The footpath ran along under a hedgerow 
where the white May buds were just beginning 
to peep amongst the green, and beyond which 
lay a considerable tract of forest-land that had 
been thinned but never brought into cultivation, 
and where the low shrubs and gorse, that had 
since grown up very thickly, afforded a good 
cover for game. Margaret loitered by the way, 
gathering a posy of wild-flowers — speedwell, 
forget-me-not, primrose, dog-violet, and wood- 
anemone — which had a peculiar and dainty de- 
light for her, as being the first she had culled 
that year. Oscar ranged over the fields, mean- 
time, in a state of most glorious excitement : he 
had espied a young leveret, and when only in 
Margaret's company he considered himself free 
so give chase to -whatever quarry appeared in 
view. His temptations became stronger still, 
when, on reaching Wildfoot — a lovely knoll 



102 A MORNING RAMBLE. 

where Blackbeck made a sudden curve — the 
path diverged into the wood itself. His mistress 
led him by the ear part of the way, whether he 
would or no,- but he shyly took advantage of a 
careless moment when she was looking up and 
trying, deftly enough, to imitate the whistling of 
a blackbird on a branch overhead, to break away 
from her and carry dismay into the bosoms of 
several promising families of young pheasants. 
It was through a narrow glade of nearly a quarter 
of a mile in length, between closely-planted fir- 
trees, that the pathway ran, and here and there 
shone about their roots clusters of pale primroses, 
as stars shine through a dark night. The mould 
was soft as a carpet, being composed of ages of 
fallen verdure, which gave out a pungent scent 
as the foot pressed it — a scent that always per- 
vaded Margaret's after dreams of home. 

"Sylvan Holt's Daughtee."— Holme Lee. 




EVENING WALKS. 



There was somehow a great pleasantness to 

Sip about the nights when she had a walk with 

Dick ; she neither understood nor questioned 

how ; not a passion, only a pleasantness ; she 

noticed that the stars were out ; she was apt to 

hear the tiny trail of music that the cascades 

made above the dam ; she saw twice as many 

lighted windows with the curtains up as she did 

when she walked alone ; if the ground were wet, 

it did not trouble her, if the ground were dry, it 

had a cool touch upon her feet ; if there were a 

geranium anywhere upon a window-sill, it pleased 

her ; if a child laughed, she liked the sound ; if 

(103) 



104 



EVENING WALKS. 



Catty had been lost since supper, she felt sure 
that they should find her at the next corner ; if 
she had her week's ironing to do when she got 
home, she forgot it ; if a rough word sprang to 
her lips, it did not drop ; if her head ached, she 
smiled ; if a boy twanged a jew's-harp, she could 
have danced to it ; if poor little Nynee Mell 
flitted jealously by with Jim, in her blue ribbons, 
she could sit down and cry softly over her, — 
such a gentleness there was about the night. 

"The Silent Pabtnek." — E. S. Phelps. 




ON THE HILLS. 



Ah, what a walk it was ! What air over my 
head, what grass under my feet ! The sweetness 
of the inner land and the crisp saltness of the 
distant sea were mixed in that delicious breeze. 
The short turf, fragrant with odorous herbs, rose 
and fell elastic underfoot. The mountain piles 
of white cloud moved in sublime procession 
along the blue field of heaven overhead. The 
wild growth of prickly bushes, spread in great 
patches over the grass, was in a glory of yellow 
bloom. On we went ; now up, now down ; now 
bending to the right, and now turning to the left. 
I looked about me. No house, no road, no paths, 
fences, hedges, walls ; no landmarks of any sort. 
All round us, turn which way we might, nothing 

(105) 



io6 



ON THE HILLS. 



was to be seen but the majestic solitude of the 
hills. No living creature appeared, but the 
white dots of sheep scattered over the soft green 
distance, and the sky-lark singing his hymn of 
happiness, a speck above my head. 

"Pook Miss Fustch." — Wilkie Collins. 





ON THE LAKE. 



The word was given to go on ; the oars dipped 
down again with measured motion, and the boat- 
man chanted a plaintive ballad, which was half a 
hymn. 

We sat with our hands linked together and 
our eyes fixed alternately upon the sky and the 
water. 

Presently an eight-oared bark swept past us 
with a lantern at its prow. The rowers were 
merry ; but their mirth jarred upon the sweet 
silence, and we answered not the shout with 

which they greeted us. 

(107) 



IOS ON THE LAKE. 

The shore seemed to come nearer and nearer 
— vague echoes came, and went, and wandered 
past — lights shimmered out, and were reflected 
in long wavering lines — and we glided, ghost- 
like, through the path of the moonlight. 

Laurent passed his arm around me, and we 
both rose and looked back. 

" See," he said, pointing to the glittering rip- 
ples, " see that silver track, laid like a pavement 
of stars along the lake ! It is as if a conquering 
army had gone by laden with riches, and scatter- 
ing the spoils of gold and jewels." 

" Or as the path touched by the feet of One 
who walked of old along the surface of the 
ocean," I added, softly. 

My husband bent down, and pressed his lips 
to my forehead. 

" Dearest," he whispered, " I am content that 
your simile should be lovelier and holier than 
mine." 

" The Laddek of Life." — Amelia B. Edwards. 




LEGEND OF THE KNIGHT AND THE 
NYMPH OF THE FOUNTAIN. 



So the young Count narrated a myth of one 
of his progenitors, — he might have lived a cen- 
tury ago, or a thousand years, or before the 
Christian epoch, for anything that Donatello 
knew to the contrary, — who had made acquaint- 
ance with a fair creature belonging, to this foun- 
tain. Whether woman or sprite was a mystery, 
as was all else about her, except her life and soul 
were somehow interfused throughout the gush- 
ing water. She was a fresh, cool, dewy thing, 
sunny and shadowy, full of pleasant little mis- 
chiefs, fitful and changeable with the whim of 
the moment, but yet as constant as her native 

(109) 



110 THE KNIGHT AND THE NYMPH. 

stream, which kept the same gush and flow for- 
ever, while marble crumbled over and around it. 
The fountain woman loved the youth, — a Knight, 
as Donatello called him, — for, according to the 
legend, his race was akin to hers. At least, 
whether kin or no, there had been friendship 
and sympathy of old betwixt an ancestor of his, 
with furry ears, and the long-lived lady of the 
fountain. And, after all those ages, she was 
still as young as a May morning, and as frolic- 
some as a bird upon a tree, or a breeze that 
makes merry with the leaves. 

She taught him how to call her from her peb- 
bly source, and they spent many a happy hour 
together, more especially in the fervor of the 
summer days. For often as he sat waiting for 
her by the margin of the spring, she would sud- 
denly fall down around him in a shower of sunny 
rain-drops, with a rainbow glancing through 
them, and forthwith gather herself up into the 
likeness of a beautiful girl, laughing — or was it 



THE KNIGHT AND THE NYMPH. Ill 

the warble of the rill over the pebbles ? — to see 
the youth's amazement. 

Thus, kind maiden that she was, the hot at- 
mosphere became deliciously cool and fragrant 
for this favored Knight ; and, furthermore, when 
he knelt down to drink out of the spring, nothing 
was more common than for a pair of rosy lips to 
come up out of its little depths, and touch his 
mouth with the thrill of a sweet, cool, dewy kiss ! 

" It is a delightful story for the hot noon of 
your Tuscan summer," observed the sculptor, at 
this point. " But the deportment of the watery 
lady must have had a most chilling influence in 
midwinter. Her lover would find it, very liter- 
ally, a cold reception." 

" I suppose," said Donatello, rather sulkily, 
"you are making fun of the story. But I see 
nothing laughable in the thing itself, nor in what 
you say about it." 

He went on to relate, that for a long while, the 
Knight found infinite pleasure and comfort in 
the friendship of the fountain nymph. In his 



112 THE KNIGHT AND THE NYMPH. 

merriest hours, she gladdened him with her sport- 
ive humor. If ever he was annoyed with earthly 
trouble, she laid her moist hand upon his brow, 
and charmed the fret and fever quite away. 

But one day — one fatal noontide — the young 
Knight came rushing with hasty and irregular 
steps to the accustomed fountain. He called the 
nymph ; but — no doubt because there was 
something unnusual and frightful in his tone — 
she did not appear, nor answer him. He flung 
himself down, and washed his hands and bathed 
his feverish brow in the cool, pure water. And 
then, there was a sound of woe ; it might have 
been a woman's voice; it might have been only 
the sighing of the brook over the pebbles. The 
water shrank away from the youth's hands, and 
left his brow as dry and feverish as before. 

Donatello here came to a dead pause. 

" Why did the water shrink from this unhappy 
Knight ? " inquired the sculptor. 

" Because he had tried to wash off a blood- 
stain ] " said the young count in a horror-stricken 



THE KNIGHT A N D THE NYMPH. 113 

whisper. "The guilty man had polluted the 
pure water. The nymph might have comforted 
him in sorrow, but could not cleanse his con- 
science of a crime." 

" And did he never behold her more ? " asked 
Kenyon. 

" Never but once," replied his friend. " He 
never beheld her blessed face but once again, 
and then there was a blood-stain on the poor 
nymph's brow ; it was the stain his guilt had left 
in the fountain where he tried to wash it off. He 
mourned for her his whole life long, and em- 
ployed the best sculptor of the time to carve this 
statue of the nymph from his description of her 
aspect. But, though my ancestry would fain 
have had the image wear her happiest look, the 
artist, unlike yourself, was so impressed with the 
mournfulness of the story, that, in spite of his 
best efforts, he made her forlorn, and forever 
weeping, as you see ! " 

Kenyon found a certain charm in this simple 
legend. Whether so intended or not, he under- 



114 THE KNIGHT AND THE NYMPH. 

stood it as an apologue, typifying the soothing 
and genial effects of an habitual intercourse with 
nature, in all ordinary cares and griefs ; while, 
on the other hand, her mild influences fall short 
in their effect upon the ruder passions, and are 
altogether powerless in the dread fever-fit or 
deadly chill of guilt. 

" The Mabbee Faux."— Nathaniel Hawthorne. 





THE FALLS OF MONTMORENCL 



From the gate opening into the grounds about 
the fall two or three little French boys, whom 
they had not the heart to forbid, ran noisily be- 
fore them with cries in their sole English, 
" This way, sir ! " and led toward a weather- 
beaten summer-house that tottered upon a pro- 
jecting rock above the verge of the cataract. 
But our tourists shook their heads, and- turned 
away for a more distant and less dizzy enjoyment 
of the spectacle, though any commanding point 
was sufficiently chasmal and precipitous. The 
lofty bluff was scooped inward from the St. Law- 
rence in a vast irregular semicircle, with cavern- 
ous hollows, one within another, sinking far into 

(115) 



Il6 THE FALLS OF MONTMORENCI. 

its sides, and naked from foot to crest, or raea- 
gerly wooded here and there with evergreen. 
From the central brink of these gloomy purple 
chasms the foamy cataract launched itself, and 
like a cloud, — 

" Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem." 

-I say a cloud, because I find it already said to 
my hand, as it were, in a pretty verse, and be- 
cause I must needs liken Montmorenci to some- 
thing that is soft and light. Yet a cloud does 
not represent the glinting of the water in its 
downward swoop ; it is like some broad slope of 
sun-smitten snow ; but snow is coldly white and 
opaque, and this has a creamy warmth in its 
luminous mass ; and so, there hangs the cataract 
unsaid as before. It is a mystery that anything 
so grand should be so lovely, that anything so 
tenderly fair in whatever aspect should yet be so 
large that one glance fails to comprehend it all. 
The rugged wildness of the cliffs and hollows 
about it is softened by its gracious beauty, which 



THE FALLS OF MONTMORENCI. I 1 7 

half redeems the vulgarity of the timber-mer- 
chant's uses in setting the river at work in his 
saw-mills and choking its outlet into the St. 
Lawrence with rafts of lumber and rubbish of 
slabs and shingles. Nay, rather, it is alone 
amidst these things, and the eye takes note of 
a separate effort. 

Our tourists sank down upon the turf that 
crept with its white clover to the edge of the 
precipice, and gazed dreamily upon the fall, 
filling their vision with its exquisite color and 
form. Being wiser than I, they did not try to 
utter its loveliness ; they were content to feel it, 
and the perfection of the afternoon, whose low 
sun slanting over the landscape gave, under that 
pale, greenish-blue sky, a pensive sentiment of 
autumn to the world. The crickets cried amongst 
the grass ; the hesitating chirp of birds came 
from the tree overhead ; a shaggy colt left off 
grazing in the field and stalked up to stare at 
them ; their little guides, having found that these 
people had no pleasure in the sight of small boys 



Il8 THE FALLS OF MONT MO RE NCI. 

scuffling on the verge of a precipice, threw them 
selves also down upon the grass and crooned a 
long, long ballad in a mournful minor key about 
some maiden whose name was La Belle Adeline. 
It was a moment of unmixed enjoyment for 
every sense. 

" Their Wedding Journey." — W. D. Howells, 





THE CASCADES. 



The pines, the clover slopes, the dam, the 
streets and houses, the very sky, everything, in 
fact, in Fire Falls, except those babies of cas- 
cades, wears, upon a summer morning, that air 
of having gone or of having been wearily to 
sleep, — an air of having been upon its feet 
eleven hours and a half yesterday, and of expect- 
ing to be upon its feet eleven hours and a half 
to-day 

Only those tiny cascades play — eternal chil- 
dren — upon a mother's bosom ; as if the heart 
of a little child, just for being the heart of a little 
child, must somehow, somewhere, play forever in 
the smile of an undying morning. 



The Silent Partner.' 



-E. S. Phelps, 
(119) 



A RAINY DAY. 



People who live in cities, think, perhaps, they 
know what a rainy day is ; a day when there will 
be no visitors, and the bell-wire has comparative 
rest ; when they can sit in wrappers if they like, 
and read books, or write letters, or do queer, 
stormy-weather work that they would not bring 
out in the sunshine ; when the streets seem to 
them, deserted, although there is yet the rattle 
of incessant carriages, bearing people who must 
go and cannot walk ; and a continual bob of 
shiny umbrella-tops up before the parlor windows. 
They feel very safe and alone ; nobody will come. 
But they know nothing of the utter quietude of a 

rainy day in-doors, among the hills, and of the 

(120) 



A RAINY DAY 



121 



still noise out. When the drops come down with 
their soft sweep and whisk among the leaves and 
grass ; when nobody goes up and down the 
road ; when the oxen are all housed, and the 
farmers busy in their barns ; when the very 
chickens run under the fences and brush-pile, 
and only the ducks are abroad and gay. 

"The Gaywoethys."— Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 





THE CLEARING OF THE THREAT- 
ENED STORM. 



But this race to escape the storm was need- 
less, for they were just getting within sight of 
Barvas when a surprising change came over the 
dark and thunderous afternoon. The hurrying 
masses of cloud in the west parted for a little 
space, and there was a sudden and fitful glimmer 
of a stormy blue sky. Then a strange soft 
yellow and vaporous light shot across to the 
Barvas hills, and touched up palely the great 
slopes, rendering them distant, ethereal and 
cloud-like. Then a shaft or two of wild light 
flashed down upon the landscape beside them. 
The cattle shone red in the brilliant green pas- 
tures. The gray rocks glowed in their setting 

of moss. The stream going by Barvas Inn was 
(122) 



CLEARING OF THE STORM. 1 23 

a streak of gold in its sandy bed. And then the 
sky above them broke into great billows of cloud 
— tempestuous and rounded masses of golden 
vapor that burned with the wild glare of the 
sunset. The clear spaces in the sky widened, 
and from time to time the wind sent ragged bits 
of yellow cloud across the shining blue. All the 
world seemed to be on fire, and the very smoke 
of it, the majestic masses of vapor that rolled 
by overhead, burned with a bewildering glare. 
Then, as the wind still blew hard, and kept veer- 
ing round again to the north-west, the fiercely-lit 
clouds were driven over one by one, leaving a 
pale and serene sky to look down on the sinking 
sun and the sea. The Atlantic caught the yellow 
glow on its tumbling waves, and a deeper color 
stole across the slopes and peaks of the Barvas 
hills. Whither had gone the storm ? There 
were still some banks of clouds away up in the 
north-east, and in the clear green of the evening 
sky they had their distant grays and purples 
faintly tinged with rose. 

" A Princess of Thuile." — William Black, 




A SABBATH IN TIME OF WAR. 



. Through that long, azure-golden morning — a 
morning so absolutely perfect in the blending of 
its elements, in its fusion of fragrance, light, and 
color, that it can never die out of my conscious- 
ness, I sat by this open window making bandages. 
Directly before me across the Shenandoah tow- 
ered the London mountain. Where the great 
trees had fallen on its summit I knew that the 
enemy was at work ranging his batteries. The 
red flags of our hospitals, hoisted high above 
their chimneys, streamed toward this foe, implor- 
ing mercy for our sick and wounded ones. The 
(124) 



A SABBATH IN TIME OF WAR. 1 25 

stony streets of Camp Hill throbbed with un- 
wonted life. Many soldiers were hurrying to 
and from the hillside spring with their black 
coffee kettles, eager to get their day's supply of 
fresh water before the bomb-shells grew thicker 
in the air. Many strangers, refugees from Mar- 
tinsburg and Winchester, paced up and down the 
street. Citizens at the corners discussed the 
probabilities of the day with troubled faces. 
Young girls and matrons toiled up the steep 
Camp Hill side to our hospital laden with baskets 
of delicacies, mindful of the suffering soldier 
amid all their fears. Poor contrabands stood in 
groups talking in incoherent terror of Jackson, 
and of the certainty of their being " cotched and 
sold down South." In a high yard opposite a 
company of little children were rolling in the 
grass amid the late-blooming flowers, utterly un- 
conscious of the impending storm about to burst 
upon their innocent heads. The atmosphere was 
pierced with the deep trill of insect melody. 
Golden butterflies nickered by me on flame-like 



126 A SABBATH IN TIM EOF WAR. 

wings. The thistle-down sailed on through seas 
of sunshine. The spider spun his web in the 
tree beside my window. The roll of the rivers 
rhymed with the music of the air. Nature rested 
in deep content. The day, serene enough for 
Paradise, murmured, " Peace." God from the 
benign heavens said, " It is my Sabbath." 

" Eieexe, or A "Woman's Right/' — Mrs. Mary Clemmer 
Ames. 





MORNING-GLORIES. 






" When I was a girl — it was a long, sweet 
time ere I came to Martindale, Miss Fuller ! — I 
used to have morning-glories all round the fences 
to my father's yard ; that was such a long while 
ago. Blue ! and purple ! and pink ! and white ! " 
She enumerated with an emphasis which Mr. 
Carradine, who stopped as he came within the 
gate, smiled to hear, and he went on to the house 
with the smile still on his face, as if he had 
looked into the heart, just then, of a white morn- 
ing-glory. 

"Peter Cakbadine." — Caroline Chesebro'. 

(127) 




THE FARM. 



At length, on a gentle declivity facing the 
South, they espied in the distance the low, long, 
whitewashed farm-house of Fardorongha Dono- 
van. There was little of artificial ornament 
about the place, but much of the rough, heart- 
stirring wildness of nature, as it appeared in a 
strong, vigorous district, well cultivated, but 
without being tamed down by those finer and 
more graceful touches which now-a-days mark 
the skillful hand of the scientific agriculturist. 

To the left waved a beautiful hazel glen, which 
gradually softened away into the meadows above 
mentioned. Up behind the house stood an an- 
cient plantation of whitethorn, which, during the 

month of May, diffused its fragrance, its beauty, 
(128) 



THE FARM. 1 29 

and its melody, over the whole farm. The plain 
garden was hedged round by the graceful poplar, 
while here and there were studded over the fields 
either single trees or small groups of mountain 
ash, a tree still more beautiful than the former. 
The small dells about the farm were closely 
covered with blackthorn and holly, with an occa- 
sional oak shooting up from some little cliff, and 
towering sturdily over its lowly companions. 
Here grew a thick interwoven mass of dog-tree, 
and upon a wild hedgerow, leaning like a beauti- 
ful wife upon a rugged husband, might be seen, 
supported by clumps of blackthorn, that most 
fragrant and exquisite of creepers, the delicious 
honeysuckle. Add to this the neat appearance 
of the farm itself, with its meadows and corn- 
fields waving to the soft, sunny breeze of sum- 
mer, and the reader may admit that, without pos- 
sessing any striking features of pictorial effect, it 
would, nevertheless, be difficult to find an up-lying 
farm upon which the eye could rest with greater 
satisfaction. 

" FAiiDOitONQHA, the Miser." — William Carlcton. 



THE DREARY ROOM. 



Gabriel and May walked into the little parlor. 
It was dark and formal. There was a black hair- 
cloth sofa, with wooden edges all over it, so that 
nobody could lean or lounge, or do anything but 
sit uncomfortably upright. There were black 
haircloth chairs, a table with two or three books ; 
two lamps with glass drops upon the mantle ; a 
thin, cheap carpet ; gloom, silence, and a compli- 
cated smell of greese — as if the ghosts of all the 
wretched dinners that had ever been cooked in 
the house haunted it spitefully. 

"Trumps." — Geo. Win. Curtis. 
(130) 



THE MOTHER'S DRESS. 



I could not tell her it was mother's wedding- 
dress. Rich people, who can buy everything 
they want immediately they want it, at any shop, 
and throw it aside when they get tired, can have 
no idea of the little loving sacrifices, the tender 
plannings, the self-denials, the willing toils, the 
tearful pleasures, that are interwoven into the 
household possessions of the poor. To Evelyn, 
my wardrobe was a bad copy of the fashions ; — 
to me, every bit of it was a bit of home, sacred 
with mother's thoughts, contriving for me night 
and day, with the touch of her busy fingers work- 
ing for me, with the quiet delight in her eyes as 
she surveyed me at last arrayed in them, and 
smoothed down the folds with her delicate neat 
hands, and then contemplated me from a distance 
with a combination of the satisfaction of a mother 
in her child and an artist in his finished work. 

"Diauy of Kitty Trevelyan."— Mrs. Elizabeth Charles. 

' (131) 



THE FAMILY RECEIPT-BOOK. 



Then there were the family receipt-books, 
which had a quaint poetry of their own. I must 
confess, in the face of the modern excellent 
printed manuals of cookery and housekeeping, a 
tenderness for the old-fashioned receipt-books of 
our mothers and grandmother's, yellow with age, 
where in their own hand-writing are the records 
of their attainments and discoveries in the art of 
making life healthful and charming. There was 
a loving carefulness about these receipts — an 
evident breathing of human experience and fam- 
ily life — they were entwined with so many asso- 
ciations of the tastes and habits of individual 
members of the family, that the reading of my 
mother's receipt-book seemed to bring back all 
the old pictures of home-life; and this precious 
manual she gave to Eva, who forthwith resolved 
to set up one of her own on the model of it. 

•'My Wife and I."— Mrs. H. B. Stowe. 
(132) 




MAKING BOOK-MARKS. 



Then Miss Yetton busied herself over a set of 
book-marks with a wild flower for every day of 
the year, half of April filled with violets, white 
and blue, the Alpine pedate, and the bright road- 
side freak of the golden yellow, while for love 
she slipped among them that other, an atom of 
summer midnight, double, says some one, as a 
little rose, the only blue rose we shall ever have ; 
and for the days whereon no blossom burst, she 
had a tip of tiny hemlock cones, the moss from 
an old stone, a bunch of berries forsaken by the 
birds, some silky seedling unstripped by the rude 
breezes. In all these treasures there was no 

flaw;, the harebell shaking in the wind and tan- 

(133) 



1 34 MAKING BOOK-MARKS. 

gled among its grasses, the wild rose whose root 
so few rains had washed that there had settled a 
deep color in its cup, the cardinal with the very 
glitter of the stream it loves meshed like a silver 
mist behind its scarlet sheen, those slip-shod 
little anemones that cannot stop to count their 
petals, but take one from their neighbors, or 
leave another behind them, all the tiny, stellate 
things, wherein the constant crystallic force of 
the ancient earth steals into light, the radiant 
water-lily ; these held no dead pressed beauty, 
but the very spirit and springing life of the 
flower. Upon them, too, she lavished fancy ; 
among the sprays little hands appeared to help 
the climbing vine, here a humming-bird and a 
scarlet rock columbine seemed taking flight to- 
gether ; then a wasp with the purple enamel of 
armor on his wing tilted against some burly hus- 
bandman of a bee to seek the good graces of the 
hooded nymph in an arethusa. 

" Azaeiaist." — Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford. 




THE MUSICIAN. 



He listened one moment more to the stream, 

then drew the bow across the strings. The 

music thrilled out upon the silence, catching the 

song of the brook in harmony as Goethe caught 

it in verse, — all its fresh delicious babble, all its 

rush of silvery sound, all its cool and soothing 

murmur, all its pauses of deep rest. All of which 

the woodland torrent told — of the winds that 

had tossed the boughs into its foam ; of the 

women-faces its tranquil pools had mirrored ; of 

the blue burden of forget-me-nots and the snowy 

weight of lilies it had borne so lovingly ; of the 

sweet familiar idyls it had seen where it had 

wound its way below quaint mill-house walls 

(135) 



I36 THE MUSICIAN. 

choked up with ivy growth, where the children 
and the pigeons paddled with rosy feet upon the 
resting wheel ; of the weary sighs that had been 
breathed over it beneath the gray old convents 
where it heard the miserere steal in with its own 
ripple, and looked itself a thing so full of leaping 
joy and dancing life to the sad eyes of girl-re- 
cluses, — all these of which it told the music told 
again. The strings were touched by an artist's 
hand, and all that duller ears heard, but dimly, in 
the splash and surge of the brown fern-covered 
stream, he heard in marvelous poems and trans- 
lated into clearer tongue — the universal tongue 
which has no country and no limit, and in which 
the musician speaks alike to sovereign and to 
savage. 

" Tkicotein." — Ouida. 




SYMPATHY. 



An ugly woman, very poorly clothed, hurried 
in while I was glancing at them, and coming 
straight up to the mother, said, " Jenny ! Jen- 
ny ! " The mother rose on being addressed, and 
fell upon the woman's neck. 

She also had upon her face and arms the 
marks of ill-usage. She had no kind of grace 
about her, but the grace of sympathy ; but when 
she condoled with the woman, and her own tears 
fell, she wanted no beauty. I say condoled, but 
her only words were "Jenny, Jenny! " All the 
rest was in the tone in which she said them. 

I thought it very touching to see these two 

women, coarse and shabby and beaten, so united ; 

(137) 



I38 SYMPATHY. 

to see what they could be to one another ; to see 
how they felt for one another ; how the heart of 
each to each was softened by the hard trials of 
their lives. I think the best side of such people 
is almost hidden from us. What the poor are to 
the poor is little known excepting to themselves 
and God. 

" Bleak House."— Dickens. 




CHRISTIE'S CONSOLATION. 



David's room had been her refuge when those 
dark hours came, and sitting there one day trying 
to understand the great mystery that parted her 
from David, she seemed to receive an answer to 
her many prayers for some sign that death had 
not estranged them. The house was very still, 
the window open, and a soft south wind was 
wandering through the room with hints of May- 
flowers on its wings. Suddenly a breath of 
music startled her, so airy, sweet, and short-lived, 
that no human voice or hand could have pro- 
duced it. Again and again it came, a fitful and 
melodious sigh, that to one made superstitious by 
much sorrow, seemed like a spirit's voice deliver- 
ing some message from another world. 

(139) 



140 CHRISTIE S CONSOLATION. 

Christie looked and listened with hushed 
breath and expectant heart, believing that some 
special answer was to be given her. But in a 
moment she saw it was no supernatural sound, 
only the south wind whispering in David's flute 
that hung beside the window. Disappointment 
came first, then warm over her sore heart flowed 
the tender recollection that she used to call the 
old flute " David's voice," for into it he poured 
the joy and sorrow, unrest and pain, he told no 
living squI. How often it had been her lullaby, 
before she learned to read its language ; how 
gaily it had piped for others ; how plaintively it 
had sung for him, alone and in the night ; and 
now how full of pathetic music was that hymn 
of consolation fitfully whispered by the wind's 
soft breath. 

Ah, yes ! this was a better answer than any 
supernatural voice could have given her ; a more 
helpful sign than any phantom face or hand ; a 
surer confirmation of her hope than subtle argu- 
ment or sacred promise : for it brought back the 



CHRISTIE S CONSOLATION. 



141 



memory of the living, loving man so vividly, so 
tenderly, that Christie felt as if the barrier was 
down, and welcomed a new sense of David's near- 
ness with the softest tears that had flowed since 
she closed the serene eyes whose last look had 
been for her. 

"Work." — Louisa M. Alcott. 




THE PRAYER. 



She kissed Magdalen and then went from the 
room and down the hall toward the door, which 
Magdalen had heard open and shut so many 
times. Magdalen was very tired, and was soon 
sleeping so soundly that she did not hear Alice 
when she came back, but she dreamed there were 
angels with her clad in white, and with a start 
she woke to find the moonlight streaming into 
her chamber, and making it so light that she 
could see distinctly the young girl in the adjoin- 
ing room was kneeling by the bed, her hands 
clasped together and her upturned face bathed in 

the silvery light, which made it like the face of 
(142) 



THE PRAYER. I43 

an angel. She was praying softly, and in the 
deep stillness of the night every whisper was 
audible to Magdalen, who heard her asking 
Heaven for strength to bear the burden patiently, 
and never to get tired and weary and wish it 
somewhere else. Then the nature of the prayer 
changed, and Magdalen knew that Alice was 
thanking Heaven for sending her to Beechwood. 
" And if anywhere in the world there are still 
living the friends she has never known, oh, Fa- 
ther, let her find them, especially her mother, — 
it is so terrible to have no mother." 

That was what Alice said, and Magdalen's 
tears fell like rain to hear this young girl plead- 
ing for her as she had never pleaded for herself. 
She had prayed, it is true. She always prayed, 
both morning and at night, but they were mere 
formal prayers, and not at all like Alice's. Hers 
were earnest, hers were heartfelt, and Magdalen 
knew that she was speaking to a real, living 
presence ; that the Saviour to whom she talked 
was there with her in the moonlit room as really 



144 



THE PRAYER. 



as if she saw him bodily. Alice's was a living 
faith, which brought Heaven down to her side, 
and Magdalen felt that there were indeed angels 
abiding round about her, and that Alice was one 
of them. 

"Mlllbank." — Mrs. Mary J. Holmes. 




THE SHINING LIGHT. 



It was odd, no doubt, to choose an old colored 
woman for my adviser ; but indeed I had not 
much choice ; and something had given me a 
confidence in Maria's practical wisdom, which, 
early as it had been formed, nothing ever hap- 
pened to shake. So, after considering the fire 
and the matter a moment, I brought forth my 
doubt. 

" Maria," said I, " what is the best way ; — I 
mean, how can one let one's light shine ? " 

" What Miss Daisy talking about ? " 

" I mean, — you know what the Bible says — 

* Let your light so shine before men, that they 

may see your good works and glorify your 

Father which is in heaven ' ? " 

" For sure I knows dat. Aint much shinin' in 

(145) 



I46 THE SHINING LIGHT. 

dese yere parts. De people is dark, Miss Daisy ; 
dey don' know. 'Spect dey would try to shine, 
some on 'em, ef dey knowed. Feel sure dey 
would." 

" But that is what I wanted to ask about, 
Maria. How ought one to let one's light 
shine ? " 

I remember now the kind of surveying look 
the woman gave me. I do not know what she 
was thinking of ; but she looked at me, up and 
down, for a moment, with a wonderfully tender, 
soft expression. Then she turned away. 

" How let um light shine ? " she repeated. 
" De bestest way, Miss Daisy, is fur to make him 
burn good." 

I saw it all immediately ; my question never 
puzzled me again. Take care that the lamp is 
trimmed ; take care that it is full of oil ; see 
that the flame mounts clear and steady towards 
heaven ; and the Lord will set it where its light 
will fall on what pleases him, and where it will 
reach, mayhap, to what you never dream of. 

"Daisy." — Miss Warner. 



SILENCE A LA MORT ! •" 



" Silence a la mort ! " 
The phrase leaped into her mind as if it had 
been repeated audibly in her ear, and with it a 
story Max had read to her and Violet in his last 
vacation, of an officer in the secret service of the 
First Emperor, who, in carrying out a confiden- 
tial order of his sovereign, was arrested and 
court-martialed upon suspicion of treasonable 
correspondence with the enemy. The Emperor 
presided at the court, and when the sentence of 
disgrace and imprisonment was passed, the faith- 
ful emissary cast one glance of agonized appeal 

at the calm, severe face of his demi-god. There 

(147) 



I48 ''SILENCE A LA MORT." 

was no sign of compassion or remorseful mem- 
ory, and the brave servant's heart and reason 
failed him together. He lived for years longer, 
but thenceforward spoke but one sentence — the 
words which had been the parting admonition of 
the iron-hearted chief in their private interview. 
" Silence a la mort ! " 
Hadassah thought out the motto and the tale ; 
remembered how the sunbeams wove a halo in 
Maxwell's hair, and flecked his book as the three 
comrades sat on the rustic bench in the grape- 
walk ; how the leaves had rustled overhead and 
the robins twittered to their young in the old 
apple-tree behind them ; how cool and lovely 
Violet had looked in her thin blue lawn ; how 
like a young Apollo her lover ; saw it all — a 
picture, bright, peaceful, and present — by the 
time Miss Mahala seized her arm, pulled her into 
the store-room, and shut out the sight of the 
crowd. 

" Tbue as Steel." — Marion Harland. 




IN THE GRAVE-YARD. 



She was looking at a bumble stone which told 
of a young man who had died at twenty-three 
years old, fifty-five years ago, when she heard a 
faltering step approaching, and looking round 
saw a feeble woman bent with the weight of 
years, who tottered to the foot of that same grave 
and asked her to read the writing on the stone. 
The old woman thanked her when she had done, 
saying that she had had the words by heart for 
many a long, long year, but could not see them 
now. 

" Were you his mother ? " said the child. 

" I was his wife, my dear." 

(149) 



150 IN LHE GRAVE-YARD. 

She the wife of a young man of three-and- 
twenty ! Ah, true ! It was fifty-five years ago. 

" You wonder to hear me say that," remarked 
the old woman, shaking her head. " You're not 
the first. Older folk than you have wondered at 
the same thing before now. Yes, I was his wife. 
Death doesn't change us more than life, my 
dear." 

" Do you come here often ? " asked the child. 

" I sit here very often in the summer-time," 
she answered ; " I used to come here once to cry 
and mourn, but that was a weary while ago, bless 
God! 

" I pluck the daisies as they grow, and take 
them home," said the old woman after a short 
silence. " I like no flowers so well as these, and 
haven't for five-and-fifty years. It's a long time, 
and I'm getting very old ! " 

Then growing garrulous upon a theme which 
was new to one listener though it were but a 
child, she told her how she had wept and moaned 
and prayed to die herself, when this happened ; 



IN THE GRAVE-YARD. 151 

and how when she first came to that place, a 
young creature strong in love and grief, she had 
hoped that her heart was breaking as it seemed 
to be. But that time passed by, and although 
she continued to be sad when she came there, 
still she could bear to come, and so went on until 
it was pain no longer, but a solemn pleasure, and 
a duty she had learned to like. And now that 
five-and-fifty years were gone, she spoke of the 
dead man as if he had been her son or grandson, 
with a kind of pity for his youth, growing out of 
her own old age, and an exalting of his strength 
and manly beauty as compared with her own 
weakness and decay ; and yet she spoke about 
him as her husband too, and thinking of herself 
in connection with him, as she used to be and 
not as she was now, talked of their meeting in 
another world, as if he were dead but yesterday, 
and she, separated from her former self, were 
thinking of the happiness of that comely girl who 
seemed to have died with him. 

" Old Curiosity Shop." — Dickens. 




IN THE CONVENT GARDEN. 



Kitty stole off to explore the chamber given 
her at the rear of the house ; that is to say, she 
opened the window looking out on what their 
hostess told her was the garden of the Ursuline 
Convent, and stood there in a mute transport. 
A black cross rose in the midst, and all about 
this wandered the paths and alleys of the gar- 
den, through clumps of lilac-bushes and among 
the spires of hollyhocks. The grounds were en- 
closed by high walls in part, and in part by the 
group of the Convent edifices, built of grey stone, 

high gabled, and topped by dormer-windowed 
(152) 



IN THE CONVENT GARDEN. 1 53 

steep roofs of tin, which, under the high morning 
sun, lay an expanse of keenest- splendor, while 
many a grateful shadow dappled the full-foliaged 
garden below. Two slim, tall poplars • stood 
against the gable of the chapel, and shot their 
tops above its roof, and under a porch near them 
two nuns sat motionless in the sun, black-robed, 
with black veils falling on their shoulders, and 
their white faces lost in the white linen that 
draped them from breast to crown. Their hands 
lay quiet in their laps, and they seemed uncon- 
scious of the other nuns walking in'the garden- 
paths with little children, their pupils, and an- 
swering their laughter from time to time with 
voices as simple and innocent as their own. 
Kitty looked down upon them all with a swelling 

heart She shaded her eyes for a 

better look, when the noonday gun boomed from 
the citadel ; the bell upon the chapel jangled 
harshly, and those strange maskers, those quaint 
black birds with white breasts and faces, flocked 
indoors. 

" A Chance Acquaintance.''— W. D. Howells. 




IN THE SWING. 



George, although comfortably established in 
the Morgan study, was also tired of waiting, and 
found the house unusually dull. For some time 
past he had been listening to a measured creak- 
ing noise in the garden ; then came a peal of 
bells from the steeple ; and he went to the win- 
dow and looked out. The garden was full of 
weeds and flowers, with daisies on the lawn, and 
dandelions and milkwort among the beds. It 
was not trimly kept, like the garden at home ; 
but George, who was the chief gardener, thought 
it a far pleasanter place, with its breath of fresh 
breeze, and its bit of blue over-roof. For flowers, 

(154; 



IN THE SWING. 155 

there were blush roses, nailed against the wall, 
that Rhocla used to wear in her dark hair some- 
times, when there were no earwigs in them ; and 
blue flags, growing in the beds among spiked 
leaves, and London pride, and Cape Jessamine, 
very sweet upon the air, and also ivy, creeping in 
a tangle of leaves and tendrils. The garden had 
been planted by the different inhabitants of the 
old brown house — each left a token. There was 
a medlar-tree, with one rotten medlar upon a 
branch, beneath which John Morgan would sit 
and smoke his pipe in the sun, while his pupils 
construed Greek upon the little lawn. Only 
Carlo was there now, stretching himself comfort- 
ably in the dry grass ( Carlo was one of Bunch's 
puppies, grown up to be of a gigantic size and an 
unknown species). Tom Morgan's tortoise was 
also basking upon the wall. The creaking noise 
went on after the chimes had ceased, and George 
jumped out of window on to the water-butt to 
see what was the matter. He had forgotten the 
swing. It hung from a branch of the medlar-tree 



I56 IN THE SWING. 

to the trellis, and a slim figure, in a limp cotton 
dress, stood clinging to the rope — a girl with a 
black cloud of hair falling about her shoulders. 
George stared in amazement. Rhoda had stuck 
some vine leaves in her hair, and had made a 
long wreath, that was hanging from the swing, 
and that floated as she floated. She was looking 
up with great wistful eyes, and for a minute she 
did not see him. As the swing rose and fell, her 
childish wild head went up above the wall and 
the branches against the blue, and down " upon 
a background of pure gold," where the Virginian 
creeper had turned in the sun. George thought 
it was a sort of tune she was swinging, with all 
those colors round about her in the sultry sum- 
mer day. 

" Old Kensington." — Anne Isabella Thackeray. 




IN THE CARS. 



She awoke after an hour or two, rested and 
refreshed, and, still lying back in her corner, 
began to scan the passengers within the range 
of her vision with the curious eyes of one who 
has seen little of the world. They were all unin- 
teresting, even to her active fancy, with the ex- 
ception of a party just before her, and a jimber- 
jawed woman in a black bonnet, over the way, 
who had come from New Hampshire alone, and 
was pouring the story of her troubles in regard 
to some error in her ticket, as well as various 
side issues, into the sympathizing ear of a ques- 
tionable-looking young man, who occupied the 

(157) 



I58 IN THE CARS. 

seat before her. Various bits of this confidence 
floated into Katey's ears, as well as the amused 
" Just so, just so, ma'am," of the young man. 
The woman had a flurried, nervous manner, and 
grasped with both hands a very large paper par- 
cel lying in her lap ; but though her story went 
on in a shrill, penetrating voice, without cessa- 
tion, she yet had eyes and ears for everything 
about her, and was constantly being overcome 
with gratitude for what she considered personal 
favors. " No, I thank you, my dear ; " to the 
itinerant ice-water boy. " But how very kind it 
was of him to think of it ! " she soliloquized. 
She apologized to the vender of books for not 
buying his wares, assuring him that they looked 
"very pretty, but, you see, I don't find much 
time to read, any way, and I expect to be tolera- 
bly busy where I am going." She exhausted 
the patience of the meek-faced conductor by her 
repeated questions, assuring him, at the end of 
each colloquy, that she had traveled all the way 
from New Hampshire alone. There came a 



IN THE CARS. 159 

change, however ; the meek-faced conductor dis- 
appeared at some cross-road, and an official of 
enormous proportions and a decidedly military 
air took his place. He slammed the door after 
him, as he entered the car, with the mildness of 
a clap of thunder. He ejaculated, "Tickets!" 
like a startling sneeze. Every sleepy eye opened 
wide. Every hand involuntarily grasped its bit 
of pasteboard, offering it abjectly at his approach. 
Not so the jimber-j awed .woman. She raised her 
voice above the noise of the train as he drew 
near, and began her story : — 

" I've come all the way from — " 

He seized her ticket, gave it a violent and 
and vicious punch, thrust it into her hand again, 
was half way down the aisle before she had suc- 
ceeded in uttering New Hampshire. 

" Well ! " She stared after him in a bewildered 
way, straightening the black bonnet, which had 
become displaced as though it had shrunk back 
of its own accord at the approach of this awful 
personage. But she was neither discouraged nor 



l60 IN THE CARS. 

dismayed. She bided her time. He came again. 
There was a perceptible hush throughout the 
car, a spasmodic clutching of tickets at that re- 
sounding slam of the door. Then the jimber- 
jawed woman rose and leaned forward, a feeble 
simper called up by some instinct of feminine 
consciousness spreading over her countenance. 
" Snap, snap : " the Great Mogul drew near. 
She opened her mouth as he turned towards her 
with an outstretched, impatient hand. " I've 
come all the way — " Suddenly he seemed to 
swell and fill the place. His face was awful 
to contemplate. He raised one finger. " Sit 
down ! " he ejaculated, in a voice of thunder ; 
and a confused heap of black bonnet and brown 
paper parcel dropped speechless upon the seat. 
The jimber-jawed woman was conscious of the 
real presence at last. 

"KATnEKLN'E Eaele." — Adeline Trafton. 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.' 



What an idle time it was ! What an unsub- 
stantial, happy, foolish time it was ! 

When I measured Dora's finger for a ring that 
was to be made of forget-me-nots, and when the 
jeweler, to whom I took the measure, found me 
out, and laughed over his order-book, and charged 
me anything he liked, for the pretty little toy, 
with its blue stones — so associated in my re- 
membrance with Dora's hand, that yesterday, 
when I saw such another, by chance, on the fin- 
ger of my own daughter, there was a momentary 
stirring in my heart, like pain ! 

When I walked about, exalted with my secret, 

and full of my own interest, and felt the dignity 

(161) 



162 "love's young dream." 

of loving Dora, and of being beloved, so much, 
that if I had walked the air I could not have 
been more above the people not so situated, who 
were creeping on the earth ! 

. When we had those meetings in the garden of 
the square, and sat within the dingy summer- 
house, so happy, that I love the London spar- 
rows to this hour, for nothing else, and see the 
plumage of the tropics in their smoky feathers ! 

When we had our first great quarrel ( within a 
week of our betrothal), and when Dora sent me 
back the ring, inclosed in a despairing cocked- 
hat note, wherein she used the terrible expression 
that " our love had begun in folly and ended in 
madness ! " which dreadful words occasioned me 
to tear my hair, and cry that all was over ! 

When, under cover of the night, I flew to Miss 
Mills, whom I saw by stealth in a back kitchen 
where there was a mangle, and implored Miss 
Mills to interpose between us and avert insanity. 
When Miss Mills undertook the office and re- 
turned with Dora, exhorting us, from the pulpit 



"love's young dream." 163 

of her own bitter youth, to mutual concession, 
and the avoidance of the Desert of Sahara ! 

When we cried, and made it up, and were so 
blest again, that the back kitchen, mangle and 
all, changed to Love's own temple, where we ar- 
ranged a plan of correspondence through Miss 
Mills, always to comprehend at least one letter 
on each side every day ! 

What an idle time ! What an unsubstantial, 
happy, foolish time ! Of all the times of mine, 
that Time has in his grip, there is none that in 
one retrospection I can smile at half so much, 
and think of half so tenderly. 

" David Copperfieed." — Dickens. 





THE PROPOSAL. 



" Come," said Gabriel, freshening again ; " think 
a minute or two. I'll wait awhile, Miss Ever- 
dene. Will you marry me ? Do, Bathsheba. I 
love you far more than common ! " 

" I'll try to think," she observed, rather more 
timorously ; "if I can think out of doors ; but 
my mind spreads away so." 

" But you can give a guess." 

" Then give me time." Bathsheba looked 
thoughtfully into the distance, away from the 
direction in which Gabriel stood. 

" I can make you happy," said he to the back 

of her head, across the bush. " You shall have a 

piano in a year or two — farmers' wives are get- 
(164) 



THE PROPOSAL. \6$ 

ting to have pianos now — and I'll practice up 
the flute right well to play with you in the even- 
ings." 

" Yes ; I should like that." 

" And have one of those little ten-pound gigs 
for market — and nice flowers and birds — cocks 
and hens, I mean, because they are useful," con- 
tinued Gabriel, feeling balanced between prose 
and verse. 

" I should like it very much." 

" And a frame for cucumbers — like a gentle- 
man and lady." 

" Yes." 

" And when the wedding was over, we'd have 
it put in the newspaper list of marriages." 

" Dearly I should like that." 

"And the babies in the births — every man 
jack of 'em ! And at home by the fire, when- 
ever you look up, there I shall be — and when- 
ever I look up, there will be you." 

" Wait, wait, and don't be improper ! " 

Her countenance fell, and she was silent 
awhile. He contemplated the red berries be- 



l66 THE PROPOSAL. 

tween them over and over again, to such an 
extent, that holly seemed in his after-life to be a 
cypher signifying a proposal of marriage. Bath- 
sheba decisively turned to him. 

" No ; 'tis no use," she said, " I don't want to 
marry you." 

" Try." 

" I have tried hard all the time I've been think- 
ing ; for a marriage would be very nice in one 
sense. People would talk about me, and think I 
had won my battle, and I should feel triumphant, 
and all that. But a husband — " 

" Well ! " 

" Why, he'd always be there, as you say ; 
whenever I looked up, there he'd be." 

" Of course he would — I, that is." 

" Well, what I mean is that I shouldn't mind 
being a bride at a wedding, if I could be one 
without having a husband. But since a woman 
can't show off in that way by herself, I shan't 
marry — at least yet." 

"Fab feom the Madding Ckowd." — T. Hardy. 




AMONG THE LILIES. 



" I am not vexed," said Kate, with a soft little 
smile among her tears, which somehow diffused 
itself into the darkness, one could not tell how. 
He felt it warm him and brighten him, though 
he could not see it; and thus they made one 
silent round, pausing for a moment where the 
lilies stood up in that tall pillar, glimmering 
through the night and breathing out sweetness. 
John, whose heart was full of all unspeakable 
things, came to a moment's pause before them, 
though he was faithful to his promise, and did 
not speak. Some angel seemed to be by, saying 
Ave, as in that scene which the old painters 

always adorn with the stately flower of Mary. 

(167) 



l68 AMONG THE LILIES. 

John believed all the poets had said of women at 
that moment, in the sweetness of the summer 
dark. Hail, woman, full of grace ! The whole 
air was full of angelic salutation. But it was he, 
the man, who had the privilege of supporting her, 
of protecting her, of saving her in danger. Thus 
the young man raved, with his heart full. And 
Kate in the silence, leaning on his arm, dried her 
tears, and trembled with a strange mixture of 
courage and perplexity and emotion. And then 
she wondered what Mrs. Mitford would say. 

Mrs. Mitford said nothing when the two came 
in by the open window, with eyes dazzled by the 
sudden entrance into the light. Kate's eyes 
were more dazzling than the lamp, if anybody 
had looked at them. The tears were dry, but 
they had left a hurried radiance behind, and the 
fresh night air had ruffled the gold in her hair, 
and heightened the color on her cheeks, which 
betrayed the commotion within. Mrs. Mitford 
made no special remark, except that she feared 
the tea was cold, and that she had just been 



AMONG THE LILIES. 169 

about to ring to have it taken away. " \ ou must 
have tired her, wandering so long about the gar- 
den. You should not be thoughtless, John," said 
his mother ; " and it is almost time for prayers." 

" It was my fault," said Kate ; " it was so 
pleasant out of doors, and quiet, and sweet. I 
am sorry we have kept you waiting. I did not 
know it was so late." 

" Oh, my dear, I do not mind," said Mrs. Mit- 
ford, smothering a half sigh ; for, to be sure, she 
had been alone while they were wandering among 
the lilies ; and she was not used to it — yet. 
" But Dr. Mitford is very particular about the 
hour for prayers, and you must haste, like a good 
child, with your tea,. I never like to put him out." 

" Oh, not for the world ! " cried Kate ; and she 
swallowed the cold tea very hurriedly, and went 
for Dr. Mitford's books, and arranged them on 
the table with her own hands ; and then she 
came softly behind John's mother and gave her a 
kiss, as light as if a rose-leaf had blown against 
her cheek. She did not offer any explanation 



70 



AMONG THE LILIES 



of this sudden caress, but seated herself by Mrs. 
Mitford, and clasped her hands in her lap like a 
young lady in a picture of family devotion ; and 
then Dr. Mitford's boots were heard to creak 
along the long passage which led from his study, 
and the bell was rung for prayers. 

" John: A Love Story." — Mrs. Oliphant. 





WALTER AND ANNIE "INTERPRET- 
ING CHESTNUT BURRS." 



" If I wished to tell you how I would dwell in 
your thoughts, what poet has written anything 
equal to this half-open burr ? It portrays our 
past, it gives our present relations, and suggests 
the future ; only, like all parables, it must not be 
pressed too far or too much prominence given to 
some mere detail. These prickly outward-point- 
ing spines represent the reserve and formality 
which keeps comparative strangers apart. But 
now the burr is half open, revealing its heart of 
silk and down. So if one could get past the bar- 
riers which you, alike with all, turn toward an 

(HI) 



172 CHESTNUT BURRS. 

indifferent or unfriendly world, a kindliness would 
be found that would surround a cherished friend 
as these silken sides envelop this sole and fa- 
vored chestnut. Again, note that the burr is 
half-open now, indicating, I hope, the progress 
we have made toward such friendship. I have 
no true friend in the wide world that I can trust, 
and I would like to believe that your regard, like 
this burr, is opening towards me. The final sug- 
gestion that I would draw may seem selfish, and 
yet is it not natural ? This chestnut dwells alone 
in the very centre of the burr. We do not like 
to share a supreme friendship. There are some 

in whose esteem we would be first." 

Annie soon came toward him, saying : 
" Perhaps this burr will suggest better mean- 
ings. You see it is wide open. That means 
perfect frankness. There are three chestnuts 
here instead of one. We must be willing to 
share the regard of others. One of these nuts 
has the central place. As we come to know 
people well, we usually find some one occupying 



CHESTNUT BURRS. 1 73 

the supreme place in their esteem, and though 
we may approach closely, we should not wish to 
usurp what belongs to another. Under Jeff's 
vigorous blows the burr and its contents have 
had a tremendous downfall, but they have not 
parted company. True friends should stick 
together in adversity. What do you think of my 
interpretation ? " 

" Opening of a Chestnut Btjer."— Eev. E. P. Roe. 





LOTTY'S OBJECTION. 



" Why do you wish to marry ? " murmured 
Lotty, turning her wet face from Margaret's 
kisses. 

" Because, because — " began Margaret. 

" Was not I your husband ? " interruped 
Lotty, impetuously; "and have not I always 
been your little fond, foolish husband, ever since 
I came to school ? " 

"Yes, my Lotty, and so you shall always be 
my little school-husband." 

" Then why do you want another ? I have 

always been a very kind, good husband ; mended 

all your pens, done all your sums, run all your 

messages, and would have told fibs for you." 
(174) 



LOTTY S OBJECTION 



175 



" That last was quite unnecessary, you know, 
little Lotty." 

" Don't joke with me, I cannot bear it. But 
who is he ? I don't mind you marrying one per- 
son that I know of, and if it is him I won't fret 
any more, for it is very fatiguing." 

"Maegaeet autd hee Bkidesmatds." By Author of 

" QUEE^ OF THE COUNTY." 




■^s 




A WIFE'S PHILOSOPHY. 



" We've brought some books that Jane left for 
you," said Joanna. " She would have come up, 
but she hadn't time. And it's been so very hot." 

" I know it has. This is the first comfortable 
breezy day for most a fortnight. And I'm thor- 
oughly obliged. It's a great thing to get a book 
up here. Specially, when the winter nights 
come on." 

" There's something among them — a book of 
traveler's stories — that we thought Jaazaniah 



might like." 

" Maybe he will. But he never took no great 

to readin' ; more'n a chapter in the Bible of a 

Sunday, or the newspapers once a week, or the 

Almanac. Sometimes I wish't he would. It 

seems like goin' off and leaving him all alone, 
(176) 



A WIFE S PHILOSOPHY. l^J 

when he sits here, and I get into a book. I'm 
clear lost for a while, that's a fact. But then he's 
always glad to see me back again, and that's one 
good of goin' away, however you do it." 

" Don't you ever read aloud to him ? " 

" Well, I used to try that, now and then. But 
it didn't do much good. I had to keep nudgin' 
him up all the time, or he'd be sure and go to 
sleep. He ain't one of the sort that can stand 
bein' read to. We ain't much alike in some 
things, and I suppose it isn't best to be. He's 
just as clever as the day is long ; and you know 
that as well as I do." 

Wealthy finished her sentence with a certain 
sudden, short defiance, as if she thrust down, 
with averted mental vision, some buried-alive 
thought that lifted itself now and then. 

" If he got lost, as I do, there'd be no knowing 

when we should ever come across one another 

again. But he's a kind of* anchor for me. He's 

always right there, and I know just where to find 

him." 

"The GAYWOirriiYS." — Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 




THE PET CANARY. 



There was one canary which they christened 

tened Golden Cloud. It was one of the two 

canaries that Dan had first trained ; and for this 

and other reasons Golden Cloud was a special 

favorite with the lads. Dan used to declare that 

Golden Cloud literally understood every word he 

spoke to it. And it really appeared as if Dan 

were right in so declaring and so believing ; it 

was certainly a fact that Golden Cloud was a bird 

of superior intelligence. The other birds were 

of that opinion, or they would not have accepted 

its leadership, When they marched, Golden 

Cloud was at the head of them — and very proud 

it appeared to be of its position ; when the per- 
(178) 



THE PET CANARY. Ijg 

formances took place, Golden Cloud was the first 
to commence ; if anything very responsible and 
very particular were, to be done, Golden Cloud 
was intrusted with it ; and if any new bird was 
refractory, it devolved upon Golden Cloud to 
assist Dan to bring that bird to its senses. The 
birds did not entertain a particle of envy towards 
Golden Cloud because it had attained an emi- 
nence more distinguished than their own ; and 
this fact was as apparent, as it must have been 
astonishing, to any reflective human being who 
enjoyed the happy privilege of being present now 
and then at the performances of Dan's clever 
troupe. Even when old age crept upon it — it 
was in the prime of life when Dan first took it in 
hand — the same respect was paid to the saga- 
more of the company. Its sight grew filmed, its 
legs grew scaly, its feathers grew ragged. What 
matter? Had it not been kind and gentle to 
them when in its prime ? Should they not be 
kind and gentle to it now that Time was striking 



l80 THE PET CANARY. 

it down ? Arid was it not, even in its decrepi- 
tude, the wise bird of them all ? 

Notwithstanding that it grew more and more 
shaky every hour almost, the old sense of duty 
was strong in the heart of Golden Cloud, and it 
strove to take part in the performances to the 
last. Golden Cloud had evidently learned the 
lesson that to try always to do one's duty is the 
sweetest thing in life. In that respect it was 
wiser than many human beings, who should have 
been wiser than it. It was a melancholy sight, 
yet a comical one withal, to see Golden Cloud lift 
a sword with its beak, and try to hold it there 
and hop with it at the head of the company. 
It staggered here and there, and, being almost 
blind, sometimes hit an inoffensive bird across 
the beak, which caused a momentary confusion ; 
but everything was set right as quickly as could 
be. The other birds bore with Golden Cloud's 
infirmities, and made its labors light for it. Even 
the tomtit — that saucy beautiful rascal, with its 
crown of Cambridge blue, who had been the 



THE PET CANARY. l8l 

most refractory bird that Golden Cloud ever had 
to deal with, who would turn heels over head in 
the midst of a serious lesson, and who would hop 
and twist about and agitate its staid companions 
with its restless tricks — even the tomtit, whose 
greatest delight was to steal things and break 
things, but whose spirit had been subdued and 
tamed by Golden Cloud's firmness, assisted the 
veteran in its old age, and did not make game 
of it. 

One evening Joshua came round to Dan's 
room rather later than usual, and found Dan in 
tears. 

" What is the matter, Dan ? " asked Joshua. 

Dan did not reply. 

" Do your legs hurt you, Dan ? " asked Joshua, 
tenderly. 

Dan formed a " No " with his lips, but uttered 
no sound. 

Joshua thought it best not to tease his friend 
with any more questions. He saw that Dan was 
suffering from a grief which he would presently 



l82 THE PET CANARY. 

unbosom. He took his accordion on his knee, 
and began to play very softly. As he played, a 
canary in a mourning-cloak came out of the toy- 
house ; another canary in a mourning-cloak fol- 
lowed, then a bullfinch, and another bullfinch ; 
then the tomtit and the linnets ; and then the 
blackbirds ; all in little black cloaks, which Ellen 
Taylor's nimble fingers had made for them that 
day out of a piece of the lining of an old frock. 
At the sight of the first canary, with its black 
cloak on, Joshua was filled with astonishment ; 
but when bird after bird followed, and ranged 
themselves solemnly in a line before him, and 
when he missed the presence of one familiar 
friend, he solved the riddle of their strange ap- 
pearance ; the birds were in mourning for the 
death of Golden Cloud. 

They seemed to know it, too ; they seemed to 
know that they had lost a friend, and that they 
were about to pay the last tribute of respect to 
their once guide and master. The bullfinches, 
their crimson breasts hidden by their cloaks, 



THE PET CANARY. 183 

looked with their black masks of faces like negro 
birds in mourning ; the amiable linnets, unob- 
trusive and shy as they generally were, were still 
more quiet and sad than usual ; even the daring 
blackbirds were subdued — with the exception 
of one, who, in the midst of a silent interval, 
struck up " Polly, put the kettle on," in its shrill 
whistle, but, observing the eyes of the tomtit 
fixed upon it with an air of reproach, stopped in" 
sudden remorse with the "kettle" sticking in its 
throat. 

Dan had made a white shroud for Golden 
Cloud ; and it was both quaint and mournful to 
see it as it lay in its coffin — Dan's money-box — 
surrounded by the mourners in their black cloaks. 
They stood quite still, with their cunning little 
heads all inclined one way, as if they were wait- 
ing for news concerning their dead leader from 
the world beyond the present. 

Joshua, with a glance of sorrow at the coffin, 
said : 

" Your money-box, Dan ! " 



184 THE PET CANARY. 

" I wish I could have buried it in a flower-pot, 
Jo," replied Dan, suppressing a sob. 

" Why didn't you ? " 

" Mother said father would be angry — " 

Here the blackbird — perceiving that the tom- 
tit was no longer observing it, and inwardly fret- 
ting that it should have been pulled up short in 
the midst of its favorite song ; also feeling awk- 
ward, doubtless, with a kettle in its throat — 
piped out with amazing rapidity and shrillness, 
" Polly put the kettle on ; we all have tea." 

The blue feathers in the tomtit's tail quivered 
with indignation, and its white-tipped wings flut- 
tered reprovingly. Moral force was evidently 
quite thrown away upon such a blackbird as 
that ; so the tomtit bestowed upon the recreant 
a sharp dig with its iron beak, and the blackbird 
bore the punishment with meekness ; merely 
giving vent, in response, to a wonderful imitation 
of the crowing of an extremely weak cock, who 
led a discontented life in a neighboring back 
yard. After which it relapsed into silence. 



THE PET CANARY. 185 

Dan, who had stopped his speech to observe 
this passage between the birds, repeated : 

"" Mother said father would be angry ; he 
knows how many flower-pots we have. So I 
used my money-box." 

" But you would rather have a flower-pot, 
Dan ? " 

" I should have liked a flower-pot above all 
things ; it seems more natural for a bird. Some- 
thing might grow out of it ; something that 
Golden Cloud would like to know is above it, if 
it was only a blade of grass." 

Joshua ran out of Dan's room, and returned in 
a very few minutes with a flower-pot with migno- 
nette growing in it. He was almost breathless 
with excitement. 

" It is mine, Dan," he said, " and it is yours. 
I bought it with my own money ; and it shall be 
Golden Cloud's coffin." 

" Kiss me, Jo," said Dan. 

Joshua kissed him, and then carefully lifted 
the flower-roots from the pot, and placed Golden 



1 86 THE PET CANARY. 

Cloud in the soft mould beneath. A few tears 
fell from Dan's eyes into the flower-pot coffin, as 
he looked for the last time upon the form of His 
pet canary. Then Joshua replaced the flower- 
roots, and arranged the earth, and Golden Cloud 
was ready for burial. 

" Play something, Jo," said Dan. 

Joshua took his accordion in his hands, and 
played a slow solemn march ; and the birds, 
directed by Dan, hopped gravely round the 
flower-pot, the tomtit keeping its eye sternly 
fixed upon the rebellious blackbird, expressing in 
the look an unmistakable determination to put an 
instant stop to the slightest exhibition of inde- 
cency. 

" I don't know where to bury it," said Dan, 
when the ceremony was completed. " Ellen has 
been trying to pick out a flag-stone in the yard, 
but she made her fingers bleed, and then couldn't 
move it. And if it was buried there, the stone 
would have to be trodden down, and the flowers 
in the coffin couldn't grow." 



THE PET CANARY. 187 

" There's that little bit of garden in our yard," 
said Joshua. " I can bury it there, if you don't 
mind. I can put the flower-pot in so that the 
mignonette will grow out of it quite nicely. It 
isn't very far, Dan," continued Joshua, divining 
Dan's wish that Golden Cloud should be buried 
near him ; " only five yards off, and its the best 
place we know of." 

Dan assenting, Joshua took the flower-pot, and 
buried it in what he called his garden ; which 
was an estate of such magnificent proportions 
that he could have covered it with his jacket. 
He was proud of it notwithstanding, and consid- 
ered it a grand property. A boundary of oyster- 
shells defined the limits of the estate, and served 
as a warning to trespassing feet. In the centre 
of this garden Golden Cloud was buried. When 
Joshua returned to Dan's room, the mourning- 
cloaks were taken off the birds — who seemed 
very glad to get rid of them — and they were 
sent to bed. 

"JoshuaMaevel." — B. L. Farjeon. 




MARGARET'S RIDE. 



Quick — quick — how slow she was ! should 
she never be ready ? Quick ! Sir Rohan, neigh- 
ing again from his stall, seemed to reproach her 
for her dilatoriness — to remind her that every 
second counted for more than whole years might 
do at any other crisis of her life. She was 
dressed — she was hurrying down stairs — turn- 
ing towards the outer door, before she recollected 
that the stable was locked. The key was always 
deposited by Jupe in a special nook in the dining- 
room closet, along with the keys of all the domes- 
tic offices, according to Mrs. Dane's edict. She 
never failed some time in the night to descend 

from her chamber, in order to satisfy herself 
(188) 



Margaret's ride. 189 

they were there, if she had forgotten to look for 
them before retiring; and as Jupe had more 
than once been roused, imbecile and howling, 
from his dreams, to hunt up such keys as fell to 
his charge, even he, the most heedless of all the 
heedless mulatto race, had learned wisdom and 
caution in the one particular. 

Margaret found the treasure. She seemed to 
move now as if she had wings, but the confusion 
and bewilderment were gone, and in the midst 
of her haste she forgot nothing. She noiselessly 
bolted the doors of the principal entrance, slipped 
out at the side passage, locking it behind her and 
putting the key in her pocket, as she ran with 
the swiftness of a wild animal towards the stable, 
from whence sounded Sir Rohan's voice anew, 
but this time eager and rejoicing, as if he heard 
her tread, and, comprehending the errand on 
which she was bent, sought to animate her cour- 
age by his sympathy. 

The door swung open easily, and Margaret en- 
tered the stable, Sir Rohan turning his head at 



I90 MARGARET S RIDE. 

the sound, but standing motionless as if to show 
her that she need have no fear. 

The harness-room beyond had gratings instead 
of shutters to the windows, and she could see a 
saddle and bridle hanging within reach. She 
felt no lack of strength — she might have been 
lifting her daintiest work-basket, for any difficulty 
she found. She was back by Sir Rohan's side : 
the moonbeams shone full into the place, and re- 
vealed his great eyes fastened upon her, while he 
evinced his recognition of her voice and his con- 
tent thereat by another short neigh. 

As she had formerly been in the habit of rid- 
ing much alone, her father had wisely made her 
learn to adjust every portion of the saddle accou- 
trements, that she might know how to remedy 
any undoing of carelessly buckled straps when 
she chanced to be out of the reach of masculine 
assistance, and the lesson did her good service 
now. 

She was ready. There was no leisure to think 
that Sir Rohan might rebel at the last moment ; 



MARGARET S RIDE. I9I 

if there had been, the belief, strong in her mind, 
as it is my own, that the beautiful creature had 
some dim perception of the need there was of 
his earnest co-operation in her work, would have 
prevented her feeling the slightest fear. She led 
him forth into the yard to the great block — he 
stood motionless as a horse cut out of black mar- 
ble — untroubled by the obnoxious draperies 
which caused him to hate female equestrians, 
and still answering her repetition of his name 
with unabated good humor. Another instant 
and she was in the saddle, and with one signal to 
Sir Rohan, that was like a supplication in its 
thrilling force, the horse bounded away at a keen 
run. 

Away — away down the hill — the corner into 
the mountain road turned — away, away, as if 
the good steed fully understood his part in the 
midnight errand, and meant to do his duty well. 
Away through the moonlight — every sign of 
human habitation left behind, and the foremost 
trees of the nearing wood beckoning her on with 






192 MARGARET S RIDE. 

their leafy hands. Away up the narrow bridle- 
path which in the first arches of the forest led 
off from the main road, so vine-hidden and secret 
that few even of the villagers knew where it di- 
verged ; on, on — up, up — with the track grow- 
ing steeper — the moonbeams quivering down 
through the interlacing boughs, which stirred 
with a low murmur in the breeze like spirit-voices 
of encouragement and consolation. 

On dashed the good horse, never erring in the 
blind path which he had frequently travelled dur- 
ing the past weeks, never faltering or stumbling 
— on, on — while the leaf-tones whispered louder, 
and the brook along which the course now led 
repeated their song of encouragement, and bade 
her hasten — hasten to her journey's end. On- 
ward — upward — no stop — no stay ! Marga- 
ret's long hair, loosened by some obstructing 
branch, streamed over her shoulders like a dusky 
veil ; her features were set and fixed ; her eyes 
gleamed with a radiance that tried vainly to 
pierce the goal she sought ; her hands grasped 



MARGARET S RIDE. I93 

the bridle firm and true, as if they had been* the 
mailed hands of a maiden Knight, riding forth on 
his first brave errand in behalf of innocence and 
the Holy Grail. 

"On, Sir Rohan, on! It is for his life — for 
his life — on, on ! " Margaret heard herself cry- 
ing, as if in answer to the voices that called her 
in the wind and the waters. " We will save him 
— on, on ! " 

And the wind and the brook seemed to repeat, 
" You will save him — on, on ! " And Sir Rohan, 
excited still more by her eager voice, plunged 
forward with such speed that trees and rocks fled 
wildly back in the moonlight, but carried her so 
easily and well that not the slightest physical dis- 
comfort troubled her mental exaltation. Steeper 
and steeper the path grew, as they penetrated 
farther into the wood ; but there was blood in 
Sir Rohan's veins that had coursed across the 
great deserts under burning Arabian suns, and 
he knew neither impatience nor fatigue. More 
sombre and gloomy waxed the road under the 



194 MARGARET S RIDE. 

boughs of the giant pines, louder chanted the 
brook, but now with a certain warning in its 
voice, and in the distance on either side great 
silvery white birch trunks showed like phantom 
forms that had come to urge her forward. 

"On,- Sir Rohan, on! For his life — for his 
life ! If we should be too late — on, on ! " 
moaned Margaret afresh, and the pine-trees and 
the leaping brook moaned back, " For his life ! 
If you should be too late — on, on ! " 

They were coming out from amidst the density 
of the wood ; the path widened ; the rocks tow- 
ered into a wall right and left ; afar on the top 
Margaret could see the stately pines, that seemed 
dashing along to keep her company in that mad 
chase ; and still above, the moon and stars, 
which hurried in advance to guard her way. 
They were in the Gorge — they were nearing 
the goal. Through the stillness Margaret heard 
the slow dull sob of the engine, like the ceaseless 
complaining of an imprisoned monster, caught 
and chained by human force to perform its pur- 



Margaret's ride. 195 

gatorial task of pumping water from the newly 
opened shaft — sob, sob, in a measured tone ; 
and as Sir Rohan with every stride bore her 
nearer and nearer, the sound appeared to gain an 
exulting strength, as if the iron Caliban under- 
stood the danger that menaced its human tyrant, 
and was panting for the echo of his death-cry to 
usher in its freedom. 

" Hurry, Rohan — hurry — a little farther — 
only a little! For his life — for his life!" 
shrieked Margaret. 

But now the voice of the iron monster drowned 
the answer of the torrent, and clouds of smoke 
from the tall chimneys spread their mist over the 
upper sky. Margaret's breath was gone in that 
last frenzied wail ; there was a horrible constric- 
tion in her throat ; a wild flutter at her heart — 
fiery specks danced before her eyes ; the sobs of 
the iron Caliban grew into howls of defiance, and 
her reeling brain comprehended only that she 
was riding a fearful race against death, and that 



196 Margaret's ride. 

the grim tyrant was straining all his remorseless 
strength to win. 

Out into the charred and blackened open 
where trees and shrubs and grass had been 
rooted up and withered by an unmerciful fire, to 
leave the plain clear for human labors. There 
was the brick prison in which the iron demon 
was confined ; back of it, the new wooden build- 
ing where slept the man whose life she had come 
to save. For the first time she looked about ; no 
sign of any human being near ; she was long in 
advance of the approaching murderers. The 
sickening horror passed ; her senses could act 
again ; every nerve was strung to its extremest 
tension, till there was no consciousness of phys- 
ical exhaustion. 

"Hiss Yan Koktland." — Frank Lee Benedict. 




THE CHILDREN IN THE BURNING 
TOWER. 



The little ones opened their eyes at last. 

The conflagration had not yet entered the 
library, but it cast a rosy glow across the ceiling. 
The children had never seen an aurora like that ; 
they watched it. Georgette was in ecstasies. 
The conflagration unfurled all its splendors ; the 
black hydra and the scarlet dragon appeared 
amidst the wreathing smoke in awful darkness 
and gorgeous vermilion. Long streaks of flame 
shot far out and illuminated the shadows, like 
opposing comets pursuing one another. Fire is 
recklessly prodigal with its treasures ; its furna- 
ces are filled with gems which it flings to the 

(197 



I98 THE BURNING TOWER. 

winds ; it is not for nothing that charcoal is iden- 
tical with the diamond. 

Fissures had opened in the wall of the upper 
story through which the embers poured like cas- 
cades of jewels ; the heaps of straw and rats 
burning in the granary began to stream out of 
the windows in an avalanche of golden rain, the 
rats turning to amethysts and the straw to car- 
buncles. 

" Pretty ! " said Georgette. 

They all three raised themselves. 

" Ah ! " cried the mother. " They have wak- 
ened ! " Rene Jean got up, then Gros Alain, and 
Georgette followed. 

Rend Jean stretched his arms toward the win- 
dow and said, " I am warm." 

" Me warm," cooed Georgette. 

The mother shrieked : " My children ! Rend ! 
Alain ! Georgette ! " 

The little ones looked about. They strove to 
comprehend. When men are frightened, chil- 
dren are only curious. He who is easily aston- 



THE BURNING TOWER. 1 99 

ished is difficult to alarm ; ignorance is intrepid- 
ity. Children have so little claim to purgatory 
that if they saw it they would admire. 

The mother repeated, " Rene ! Alain ! Geor- 
gette ! " Rene Jean turned his head ; that voice 
roused him from his reverie. Children have 
short memories, but their recollections are swift ; 
the whole past is yesterday to them. Rene Jean 
saw his mother, found that perfectly natural, 
and feeling a vague want of support in the 
midst of those strange surroundings, he called, 
" Mamma ! " 

" Mamma ! " said Gros Alain. 

" M'ma ! " said Georgette. 

And 'she held out her little arms. 

" My children ! " shrieked the mother. 

Ail three went close to the window-ledge; for- 
tunately the fire was not on that side. 

" I am too warm," said Rene* Jean. He added, 
" It burns." Then his eyes sought the mother. 
" Come here, mother ! " he cried. 

" Turn, m'ma," repeated Georgette. 



200 THE BURNING TOWER. 

The mother, with her hair streaming about her 
face, her garments torn, her feet and hands bleed- 
ing, let herself roll from bush to bush down into 
the ravine. Cimourdain and Guechamp were 
there, as powerless as Gauvain was above. The 
soldiers, desperate at being able, to do nothing, 
swarmed about. The heat was insupportable, 
but nobody felt it. They looked at the bridge — 
the height of the arches — the different stories 
of the castle — the inaccessible windows. Help 
to be of any avail must come at once. Three 
stories to climb. No way of doing it. 

The hollow sound of cracking timbers rose 
above the roar of the flames. The panes of glass 
in the bookcases of the library cracked and fell 
with a crash. It was evident that the timber- 
work had given way. Hurrfan strength could do 
nothing. Another moment and the whole would 
fall. The soldiers only waited for the final catas- 
trophe. They could hear the little voices repeat, 
" Mamma ! mamma ! " 



THE BURNING TOWER. 201 

The whole crowd was paralyzed with horror. 
Suddenly, at the casement near that where the 
children stood, a tall form appeared against the 
crimson background of the flames. 

Every head was raised — every eye fixed. A 
man was above there — a man in the library — 
in the furnace. The face showed black against 
the flames, but they could see the white hair — 
they recognized the Marquis de Lantenac. He 
disappeared, then appeared again. 

The indomitable old man stood in the window 
shoving out an enormous ladder. It was the 
escape-ladder deposited in the library — he had 
seen it lying upon the floor and dragged it to the 
window. He held it by one end — with the 
marvelous agility of an athlete he slipped it out 
of the casement and slid it along the wall down 
into the ravine. 

Radoub folded his arms about the ladder as it 
descended within his reach, crying, " Live the 
Republic ! " 

The Marquis shouted, " Live the King." 



202 THE BURNING TOWER. 

Radoub muttered, " You may cry what you 
like, and talk nonsense if you please, you are an 
angel of mercy all the same." 

The ladder was settled in place, and communi- 
cation established between the burning floor and 
the ground. Twenty men rushed up, Radoub at 
their head, and in the twinkling of an eye they 
were hanging to the rungs from the top to the 
bottom, making a human ladder. Radoub, on 
the topmost rung, touched the window. He had 
his face turned toward the conflagration. The 
little army scattered among the heath and along 
the sides of the ravine pressed forward, overcome 
by contending emotions, upon the plateau, into 
the ravine, out on the platform of the tower. 

The Marquis disappeared again, then reap- 
peared bearing a child in his arms. There was a 
tremendous clapping of hands. 

The Marquis had seized the first little one that 
he found within reach. It was Gros Alain. 

Gros Alain cried, " I am afraid." 

The Marquis gave the boy to Radoub; Ra- 



THE BURNING TOWER. 203 

doub passed him on to the soldier behind, who 
passed him to another, and just as Gros Alain, 
greatly frightened and sobbing loudly, was given 
from hand to hand to the bottom of the ladder, 
the Marquis who had been absent for a moment 
returned to the window with Rene Jean, who 
struggled and wept and beat Radonb with his 
little fists as the Marquis passed him on to the 
sergeant. 

The Marquis went back into the chamber that 
was now filled with flames. Georgette was there 
alone. He went up to her. She smiled. This 
man of granite felt his eyelids grow moist. He 
asked, " What is your name ? " 

" Orgette," said she. 

He took her in his arms ; she was still smil- 
ing, and at the instant he handed her to Radoub, 
that conscience so lofty, and yet so darkened, 
was dazzled by the beauty of innocence ; the old 
man kissed the child. 

" It is the little girl ! " said the soldiers ; and 
Georgette in her turn descended from arm to 



204 THE BURNING TOWER. 

arm, till she reached the ground, amidst cries of 
exultation. They clapped their hands ; they 
leaped ; the old grenadiers sobbed, and she 
smiled at them. 

The mother stood at the foot of the ladder 
breathless, mad, intoxicated by this change — 
flung, without transition, from hell into paradise. 
Excess of joy lacerates the heart in its own way. 
She extended her arms ; she received first Gros 
Alain, then Rene* Jean, then Georgette. She 
covered them with frantic kisses, then burst into 
a wild laugh and fainted. 

A great cry rose : " They are all saved ! " 

"Ninety-Three." — Victor Hugo. 




A STREET SCENE. 



It was four in the afternoon by the market 
clock, when, the business of the day having been 
concluded, Ambray and Michael drove to the 
spot where they had arranged to meet and take 
up Ma'r S'one. 

They found him waiting there. Ambray had 
fetched his coat, and was crossing towards the 
wagon, and Ma'r S'one was doing something to 
the harness at Michael's direction, when all three 
were caused to turn their faces up the street by 
a sudden cry. 

It was not a cry of acute pain, fear, anger, or 

entreaty ; it was not a cry wrung out by any 

sharp and sudden aggravation ; it was rather 

such a cry as might come from a creature who, 

(205) 



206 A STREET SCENE. 

in the loneliness and darkness of night, when no 
earthly ear can hear, and when God seems fur- 
ther than the stars, sets free some misery that 
has lain gagged all day, and lets it wail aloud. 

It was a girl's voice, and its youth made its 
anguish the more penetrating and strange. 

It did not soon cease, but went on minute after 
minute till every one in the street stood still and 
turned and listened, while several hurried towards 
the spot from which the sound came. 

Thus a little crowd soon shut from Ambray, 
Michael, and Ma'r S'one the object which they 
had seen when they first turned their faces and 
looked. 

This was the figure of a girl standing at the 
edge of the kerb-stone with her hands stretched 
a little forward, the palms outwards, as if she 
were feeling for the wall on the wrong side of 
the pavement. 

By the time Michael had consigned the reins 
to Ma'r S'one, and pushed his way with his mas- 
ter through the little crowd, the girl was sitting 



A STREET SCENE. 207 

on the kerb-stone where she stood a minute be- 
fore, and the cry that still came from her lips 
seemed duller and more monotonous. 

She appeared to be about sixteen years old, 
and at a first glance Michael thought her but a 
common-place, slatternly, ragged creature, differ- 
ing little from thousands of others he had seen 
selling fruit and flowers in the London streets. 

She was very slight, her ragged clothes hung 
on her as on a reed ; but her face, though it was 
small, was not thin or pinched with want. The 
cheeks and lips were at this moment colorless, 
but it seemed as if color had only recently left 
them. 

The head from which the bonnet and hair-net 
had fallen was thrown back, the eyes were closed, 
the face was uplifted with an expression of intol- 
erable misery. 

The girl's clothes were dark and travel-stained, 
and her hair, of a pale and rare flaxen shade, 
looked strangely out of place upon her drawn-up 
brows and over her shoulders, which were pushed 



203 A STREET SCENE. 

up by her hands being rested at either side of 
her on the low kerb-stone where she sat. 

These hands were red and black, as were also 
the little bare feet resting in the road. The out- 
line of the up-turned chin was singularly perfect. 
It seemed, indeed, touched — as the sunshine 
fell on it — with a most tender spiritual beauty, 
which made one imagine that some unseen, an- 
gelic hand supported it ; and kept this creature, 
so young and so helpless, from sinking utterly in 
those depths of anguish from which the voice — 
flowing drearily through the parted lips — ap- 
peared to come. 

" What's this about ? What's the matter with 
the girl ? " asked Ambray of a commercial trav- 
eler who stood near him. 

" Ob, she pretends she's just been struck 
blind." 

" Pretends ? " echoed Michael, indignant, though 
whether with the speaker or the girl he hardly 
knew. 



A STREET SCENE. 209 

" Strurk blind," Am bray repeated ; " what, 
just now ?" 

" Hush," said the commercial traveller. " Let 
us watch, — I fancy there'll be some fun pres- 
ently : that policeman has his eye on her. I 
fancy, from what he said, he knows her, and has 
seen this game before." 

" Ah, the young baggage ; is that it ? " mur- 
mured Ambray, beginning to feel resentment at 
having been duped into a feeling of pity but for 
one instant ; and, with a stern satire in his eye, 
he sat himself to watch with the rest of the 
crowd — to watch and judge this most wicked 
impostor or most bitter sufferer, whichever she 
might prove to be. 

She had arraigned herself, or fate had arraigned 
her, before a set of judges which, perhaps, repre- 
sented the world about as faithfully as an ordi- 
nary court of justice does. 

The larger part of the crowd had collected 
since Ambray and Michael had arrived at the 
spot ; but those standing closely round the girl 



210 A STREET SCENE. 

were simply the passengers through the street 
who had been all simultaneously stopped in their 
different pursuits and thoughts, and compelled, 
by this sad voice, to turn and fix their minds, one 
and all, on the same subject. 

The number of these was about fifteen, and 
consisted of the commercial traveler, standing 
by Am bray ; three friends, two of whom were 
poor-law guardians, and one an impressionable 
old gentleman, who boasted of never being de- 
ceived in his first impressions ; the watchful 
policeman ; a little tailor, going home disap- 
pointed of some money he had expected ; a party 
of young ladies and gentlemen just returned 
from a yachting excursion ; an old farmer and 
his wife; a clergyman; a tramp of doubtful 
character ; and a little child about three years of 
age, standing with its finger in its mouth, and 
the exact same expression of rueful pity in its 
face as Ma'r S'one had on his as he turned round 
while standing holding back the powerful cart- 
horses, meek as lambs against his feeble arm. 



A STREET SCENE. 211 

The commercial traveler did not put any ques- 
tion to the girl, as most of the others did in turn, 
but stood prepared, as he had said, to enjoy the 
fun of seeing an imposture detected, an impostor 
hunted down. He was a hard-working, honest 
man, who lost something considerable yearly in 
actual pounds, shillings, and pence, through not 
departing a little from his own ideas of honesty. 
This loss was never absent from his mind, and 
the only compensation he found — for the world 
offered him no other — was dwelling on the suf- 
ferings of those who had not, like himself, chosen 
the straight path. His virtue was as a wolf 
within him, demanding for its food the tears of 
detected vice. He was one of those men whom 
if placed among the sheep on Christ's right hand 
would find less reward in hearing the words, 
" Come, ye blessed," than in listening to the 
" Depart, ye cursed," uttered to the goats on the 
left hand. 

Next to this man stood Ambray, who hated 
law for the simple reason that it had always gone 



212 A STREET SCENE. 

hand in hand with Mrs. Grist against him. This 
caused him, though his own judgment was hard 
against the girl, to regard the delighted excite- 
ment of his commercial neighbor with much dis- 
gust ; and he could not help comparing him in 
his mind to a great blue-bottle fly buzzing with 
delight as he watched some feeble and pretty 
creature of his own species entangling itself in a 
spider's web. 

The three friends stood nearest the vagrant — 
and of these it was the impressionable-looking 
gentleman who spoke to her most often, and who 
always appeared more and more convinced of 
her sincerity and innocence each time he spoke 
to her, whether she answered him or only contin- 
ued her bitter crying. 

His friends, the poor-law guardians, did not 
seem greatly impressed by his opinion. One — 
the perfection of whose health and toilet showed 
who and what had been his chief care through 
life — had clearly written on his handsome face 
an intimation to providence, that after such a 



A STREET SCENE. 213 

winter as the parish had undergone, he should 
certainly expect this to prove a case for the 
prison authorities, and not for the poor-law- 
boar d. 

The person who leant upon his arm was also a 
rich man, but one who had grown cadaverous 
and hollow-eyed, and had sickened of his sump- 
tuous fare, his purple and fine linen, in consider- 
ing the sores and cries of those who came to ask 
for the crumbs that fell from his table. He was 
a charitable man whose charity had been much 
imposed upon ; and as he stood looking at the 
girl none in the crowd doubted her more, and 
none were so anxious to believe in her and to 
give her assistance and comfort. 

The policeman stood just behind the commer- 
cial traveler, whom he had taken into his confi- 
dence. With his hand on his hip, he listened 
with a smile of supreme contempt to all the 
questions, sharp or gentle, that were put to the 
miserable girl, and to the answers that she gave. 

The disappointed little tailor, with the black 



214 A STREET SCENE. 

cloth — in which he had just taken home the 
work for which he had not been paid — twisted 
round his arm, stood a little aloof from the 
others, lost in thought. He was too humble- 
minded a man not to have accepted instantly the 
verdict of his betters ; and one glance at the 
poor-law guardians, the policeman, and commer- 
cial traveler, had convinced him as to the deprav- 
ity of the creature whose cries had stopped his 
feet on their sad journey homewards. But 
though he accepted the verdict undoubtingly, 
there was a furtive, frightened, but an almost 
fierce anxiety in his eye as to the judgment that 
was going to be passed on the offender. He had 
never seen her before, yet he was possessed by a 
feeling of which he was greatly ashamed, but 
which none the less held him to the spot — a 
feeling that there was no one in the world so 
well able as himself to offer evidence as to how 
easy might have been the slipping of these young 
feet, how terribly hard it is to resist the shine on 



A STREET SCENE. 21$ 

want's steps when the head is giddy with hunger 
and the heart sick. 

The yachting party had evidently enjoyed a 
gay little cruise, and were rather glad to hear and 
believe that the girl was an impostor, and that 
consequently there was no need for them to put 
aside their gaiety and look on the matter in a 
serious light. 

The old farmer and his wife took the whole 
affair as one of the amusements of the town — a 
visit to which was an utter failure, unless it 
afforded some such sight. They only removed 
their spectacles from time to time to wipe them 
and put them on again, and begin the study of 
the town impostor with renewed zest. 

The tramp of doubtful character apparently 
had many if not good reasons for keeping behind 
the policeman as much as possible. He looked 
very haggard and weary, and carried his boots 
over his shoulder on a stick that had as vagabond- 
like an expression as his face. His eyes re- 
mained fixed on the young girl, wistfully alert to 



2l6 A STREET SCENE. 

meet her eye, and signal to her with as much 
force as could be thrown into a wink that, 
stranger as he was, he considered her game was 
up, and that the sooner she made off the better 
it would be for her. 

The clergyman appeared also to have come to 
the conclusion that the girl was acting, but he 
seemed to be watching- the little crowd about her 
with almost more interest than he looked at her. 
Perhaps this was because he knew most of these 
persons pretty well, and was wondering with 
melancholy interest which among them was 
fitted to cast the first stone. He had not the 
pleasure of the commercial traveler's acquaint- 
ance, or doubtless he would have wondered no 
longer; for, though that gentleman was really 
too good-hearted to do personal violence to any 
one if he could help it, yet, as far as rigJit went, 
he would assuredly maintain that he could take 
up the largest stone at hand and smite with clear 
conscience and unerring aim straight through 
the hypocrite's young bosom to her heart. 



A STREET SCENE. 



217 



The little child and Ma'r S'one were the only 
ones who regarded her simply as being in trouble 
— who, without inquiring as to the why or the 
wherefore, turned to each other with faces that 
said only, with rueful sympathy — " Here are 
tears ! " 

" The High Mills."— Katherine Saunders. 





" COCKLES AND CRAMBO/' OR HAZEL 
RIPWINKLEY'S PARTY. 



Hazel Ripwinkley put on her nankeen sack 
and skirt, and her little, round, brown straw 
hat. For May had come, and almost gone, and 
it was a day of early summer warmth. 

Hazel's dress was not a " suit " ; it had been 
made and worn two summers before suits were 
thought of ; yet it suited very well, as people's 
things are apt to do, after all, who do not trouble 
themselves about minutiae of fashion, and so get 
no particular antediluvian marks upon them that 

show when the flood subsides. 

(218) 



"cockles and crambo. 219 

Her mother knew some things that Hazel did 
not. Mrs. Ripwinkley, if she had been asleep 
for five and twenty years, had lost none of her 
perceptive faculties in the trance. But she did 
not hamper her child with any doubts ; she let 
her go on her simple way, under the shield of 
her simplicity, to test this world she had come 
into, for herself. 

Hazel had written down her little list of the 
girls' names that she would like to ask; and Mrs. 
Ripwinkley looked at it with a smile. There 
was Ada Geoffrey, the banker's daughter, and 
Lilian Ashburne, the professor's, — heiresses each 
of double lines of birth and wealth. She could 
remember how, in her childhood, the old names 
sounded, with the respect that was in men's tones 
when they were spoken; and underneath were 
Lois James and Katie Kilburnie, children of a 
printer and a hatter. They had all been chosen 
for their purely personal qualities. A child, let 
alone, chooses as an angel chooses. 



220 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 

It remained to be seen how they would come 
together. 

At the very head, in large, fair letters, was, — 
" Miss Craydocke." 

Down at the bottom, she had just added, — 
" Mr. Kincaid and Dorris." 

" For, if I have some grown folks, mother, per- 
haps I ought to have other grown folks, — to keep 
the balance true. Besides, Mr. Kincaid and 
Dorris always like the little nice times." 

From the day when Dorris Kincaid had come 
over with the gray glass vase and her repeated 
thanks, when the flowers had done their ministry 
and faded, there had been little simple courte- 
sies, each way, between the opposite houses ; and 
once Kenneth and his sister had taken tea with 
the Ripwinkley's, and they had played "Crambo " 
and " Consequences " in the evening. The real 
little game of " Consequences," of which this 
present friendliness was a link,' was going on all 
the time, though they did not stop to read the 
lines as they folded them down, and " what the 



"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 221 

world said " was not one of the items in their 
scheme of it all. 

It would have been something worth while to 
have followed Hazel as she went her rounds, ask- 
ing quietly at each house to see Mrs. This or 
That, " as she had a message ; " and being 
shown, like a little representative of an almost 
extinct period, up into the parlor, or the dressing- 
room of each lady, and giving her quaint errand. 

" I am Hazel Ripwinkley," she would say, 
"and my mother sends her compliments, and 
would like to have Lilian," — or whoever else, — 
" come at four o'clock to-day, and spend the 
afternoon and take tea. I'm to have a little 
party such as she used to have, and nobody is to 
be much dressed up, and we are only to play 
games." 

" Why, that is charming ! " cried Mrs. Ash- 
burne ; for the feeling of her own sweet early 

days, and the old B Square house, came over 

her as she heard the words. " It is Lilian's music 
afternoon ; but never mind ; give my kind com- 



222 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO." 

pliments to your mother, and she will be very 
happy to come." 

And Mrs. Ashburne stooped down and kissed 
Hazel, when she went away. 

She stood in the deep carved stone entrance- 
way to Mrs. Geoffrey's house, in the same fear- 
less, Red Riding Hood fashion, just as she would 
have waited in any little country porch up in 
Homesworth, where she had need indeed to 
knock. 

Not a whit dismayed was she either, when the 
tall man-servant opened to her, and admitted her 
into the square, high, marble-paved hall, out of 
which great doors were set wide into rooms rich 
and quiet with noble adorning and soft shading, 
— where pictures made such a magic upon the 
walls, and books were piled from floor to ceiling ; 
and where her little figure was lost as she went 
in, and she hesitated to take a seat anywhere, 
lest she should be quite hidden in some great 
arm-chair or sofa corner, and Mrs. Geoffrey 
should not see her when she came down. 



"cockles and crambo. 223 

So, as the lady entered, there she was, upright 
and waiting, on her two feet, in her nankeen 
dress, just within the library doors, with her face 
turned toward the staircase. 

" I am Hazel Ripwinkley," she began ; as if 
she had said, I am Pease-blossom or Mustard- 
seed ; " r go to school with Ada." And went on, 
then, with her compliments and her party. And 
at the end she said, very simply, — 

" Miss Craydocke is coming, and she knows 
the games." 

" Miss Craydocke, of Orchard Street ? And 
where do you live ? " 

" In Aspen Street, close by, in Uncle Oldway's 
house. We haven't lived there very long, — only 
this winter; before that we always lived in 
Homesworth." 

" And Homesworth is in the country ? Don't 
you miss that ? " 

" Yes ; but Aspen Street isn't very bad; we've 
got a garden. Besides, we like streets and 
neighbors." 



224 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO." 



Then she added, — for her little witch-stick 
felt spiritually the quality of what she spoke 
to, — " Wouldn't Mr. Geoffrey come for Ada in 
the evening?" 

" I haven't the least doubt he would ! " said 
Mrs. Geoffrey, her face all alive with exquisite 
and kindly amusement, and catching the spirit of 
the thing from the inimitable simplicity before 
her, such as never, she did believe, had walked 
into anybody's house before, in this place and 
generation, and was no more to be snubbed than 
a flower or a breeze or an angel. 

It was a piece of Witch Hazel's witchery, or 
inspiration, that she named Miss Craydocke ; 
for Miss Craydocke was an old dear friend of 
Mrs. Geoffrey's, in that " heart of things " behind 
the fashions, where the kingdom is growing up. 
But of course Hazel could not have known that ; 
something in the lady's face just made her think 
of the same thing in Miss Craydocke's, and so 
she spoke, forgetting to explain, nor wondering 



"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 225 

in the very least, when she was met with knowl- 
edge. 

It was all divining, though, from the beginning 
to the end. That was what took her into these 
homes, rather than to a score of other places up 
and down the self-same streets, where, if she had 
got in at all, she would have met strange, lofty 
stares, and freezing " thankyou's," and " engage- 
ments." 

" I've found the real folks, mother, and they're 
all coming ! " she cried, joyfully, running in 
where Mrs. Ripwinkley was setting little vases 
and baskets about on shelf and table, between 
the white, plain, muslin draperies of the long 
parlor windows. In vases and baskets were 
sweet -May flowers ; bunches of deep-hued, rich- 
scented violets, stars of blue and white periwin- 
kle, and Miss Craydocke's lilies of the valley in 
their tall, cool leaves ; each kind gathered by 
itself in clusters and handfuls. Inside the wide, 
open fireplace, behind the high brass fender and 
the shining andirons, was a "chimney flower 



226 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO." 

pot," country fashion, of green lilac boughs, — 
not blossoms, — and woodbine sprays, and crim- 
son and white tulips. The room was fair and 
fragrant, and the windows were wide open upon 
vines and grass. 

" It looks like you, mother, just as Mrs. Geof- 
frey's house looks like her. Houses ought to 
look like people, I think." 

" There's your surprise, children. We should 
not be doing it right without a surprise, you 
know." 

And the surprise was not doll's pelerines, but 
books. " Little Women " was one, which sent 
Diana and Hazel off for a delicious two hours' 
read up in their own room until dinner. 

After dinner, Miss Craydocke came, in her 
purple and white striped mohair and her white 
lace neckerchief ; and at three o'clock Uncle 
Titus walked in, with his coat pockets so bulgy, 
and rustling and odorous of peppermint and sas- 
safras, that it was no use to pretend to wait and 



"cockles and crambo. 227 

be unconscious, but a pure mercy to unload him 
so that he might be able to sit down. 

Nobody knows to this day where he got them ; 
he must have ordered them somewhere, one 
would think, long enough before to have special 
moulds and implements made ; but there were 
large, beautiful cockles, — not of the old flour- 
paste sort, but of clear, sparkling sugar, rose- 
color, and amber, and white, with little slips of 
tinted paper tucked within, and these printed 
delicately with pretty rhymes and couplets, from 
real poets ; things to be truly treasured, yet sim- 
ple, for children's apprehension, and fancy, and 
fun. And there were " Salem gibraltars," such 
as we only get out of Essex County now and 
then, for a big Charitable Fair, when Salem and 
everywhere else gets its spirit up to send its best 
and most especial ; and there were toys and de- 
vices in sugar, — flowers and animals, hats, bon- 
nets, and boots, apples and cucumbers, — such as 
Diana and Hazel, and even Desire and Helena, 
had never seen before. 



228 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO." 

" It isn't quite fair," said good Miss Craydocke. 
" We were to go back to the old, simple fashions 
of things ; and here you are beginning over again 
already with sumptuous inventions. It's the very 
way it came about before, till it was all spoilt." 

" No," said Uncle Titus, stoutly. " It's only 
' Old and New,' — the very selfsame good old 
notions brought to a little modern perfection. 
They're not French flummery, either; and there's 
not a drop of gin, or a flavor of prussic acid, or 
any other abominable chemical, in one of those 
contrivances. They're as innocent as they look ; 
good honest mint and spice and checkerberry 
and lemon and rose. I know the man that made 
'em ! " 

Helena Ledwith began to think that the first 
person, singular or plural, might have a good 
time; but that awful third! Helena's "they" 
was as potent and tremendous as her mother's. 

" It's nice," she said to Hazel ; " but they 
don't have such things. I never saw them at a 
party. And they don't play games ; they always 






"cockles and crambo. 229 

dance. And it's broad, hot daylight ; and — you 
haven't asked a single boy ! " 

" Why, I don't know any ! Only Jimmy 
Scarup ; and I guess he'd rather play ball, and 
break windows ! " 

" Jimmy Scarup ! " And Helena turned away, 
hopeless of Hazel's comprehending. 

But " they " came ; and " they " turned right 
into " we." 

It was not a party; it was something alto- 
gether fresh and new; the house was a new, 
beautiful place ; it was like the country. And 
Aspen Street, when you got down there, was so 
still and shady and sweet smelling and pleasant. 
They experienced the delight of finding out 
something. 

Miss Craydocke and Hazel set them at it, — 
their good time ; they had planned it all out, and 
there was no stiff, shy waiting. They began, 
right off, with the " Muffin Man." Hazel danced 
up to Desire: — 



230 

" 0, do you know the Muffin Man, 

The Muffin Man, the Muffin Man? 
O, do you know the Muffin Man 
That lives in Drury Lane ? " 
" O, yes, I know the Muffin Man, 
The Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, 
O, yes, I know the Muffin Man 
That lives in Drury Lane." 

And so they danced off together : — 

" Two of us know the Muffin Man, 
The Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, 
Two of us know the Muffin Man 
That lives in Drury Lane." 

And then they besieged Miss Craydocke ; and 
then the three met Ada Geoffrey, just as she had 
come in and spoken to Diana and Mrs. Ripwink- 
ley; and Ada had caught the refrain, and re- 
sponded instantly ; and four of them knew the 
Muffin Man. 

" I know they'll think it's common and queer, 
and they'll laugh to-morrow," whispered Helena 



"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 23 1 

to Diana, as Hazel drew the lengthening string 
to Dorris Kincaid's corner and caught her up ; 
but the next minute they were around Helena in 
her turn, and they were laughing already, with 
pure glee ; and five faces bent toward her, and 
five voices sang, — 

" O, don't you know the Muffin Man ? " 

And Helena had to sing back that she did ; 
and then the six made a perfect snarl around 
Mrs. Ripwinkley herself, and drew her in ; and 
then they all swept off and came down across 
the room upon Mr. Oldways, who muttered under 
the singing, " seaven women ! Well, the Bible 
says so, and I suppose it's come ! " and then he 
held out both hands, while his hard face unbent 
in every wrinkle, with a smile that overflowed 
through all their furrowed channels, up to his 
very eyes ; like some sparkling water that must 
find its level ; and there were eight that knew 
the Muffin Man. 

So nine, and ten, and up to fifteen ; and then, 



232 - "COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 

as their line broke away into fragments, still 
breathless with fun, Miss Craydocke said, — her 
eyes brimming over with laughing tears, that 
always came when she was gay, — 

"There, now! we all know the "Muffin Man ;" 
therefore it follows, mathematically, I believe, 
that we must all know each other. I think we'll 
try a sitting-down game next. I'll give you all 
something. Desire, you can tell them what to 
do with it, and Miss Ashburne shall predict the 
consequences." 

So they had the " Presentation Game ; " and 
the gifts, and the dispositions, and the conse- 
quences, when the whispers were over, and they 
were all declared aloud, were such hits and j lim- 
bics of sense and nonsense as were almost too 
queer to have been believed. 

" Miss Craydocke gave me a butter firkin," 
said Mrs. Ripwinkley. " I was to put it in the 
parlor and plant vanilla beans in it ; and the con- 
sequences would be that Birnam Wood would 
ccmc to Dunsinanc," 



"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 233 

" She gave me a wax doll," said Helena. " I 
was to buy it a pair of high-heeled boots and a 
chignon ; and the consequences would be that it 
would have to stand on her head." 

" She gave me," said Mr. Oldways, " an iron 
spoon. I was to deal out sugar-plums with it ; 
and the consequences would be that you would 
all go home." 

" She gave me," said Lois James, " Woman's 
Rights. I shouldn't know what to do with them ; 
and the consequence would be a terrible mortifi- 
cation to all my friends." 

" She gave me," said Hazel, " a real good time. 
I was to pass it round , and the consequence 
would be an earthquake." 

Then they had " Scandal ; " a whisper, re- 
peated rapidly from ear to ear. It began with, 
" Luclarion is in the kitchen making tea-bis- 
cuits ; " and it ended with the horrible announce- 
ment that there were " two hundred gallons of 
hot pitch ready, and that everybody was to be 
tipped into it." 



234 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 

" Characters," and " Twenty Questions," and 
" How, When, and Where," followed ; and then 
they were ready for a run again, and they played 
" Boston," in which Mr. Oldways, being " Sceat- 
tle," was continually being left out, whereupon he 
declared at last, that he didn't believe there was 
any place for him, or even that he was down any- 
where on the map, and it wasn't fair, and he was 
going to secede ; and that broke up the play ; 
for the great fun of all the games had come to 
be Miss Craydocke and Uncle Titus, as it always 
is the great fun to the young ones when the 
elders join in, — the older and the soberer, the 
better sport ; there is always something in the 
"fathers looking on;" that is the way I think 
it is among them who always do behold the face 
of the Father in heaven, — smiling upon their 
smiles, glowing upon their gladness. 

In the tea-room, it was all even more delight- 
ful yet ; it was further out into the garden, 
shaded at the back by the deep leafiness of grape- 
vines, and a trellis work with arches in it that 



"cockles and crambo." 235 

ran up at the side, and would be gay by-and-by 
with scarlet runners, and morning-g-lories, and 
nasturtiums, that were shooting up strong and 
swift already, from the neatly weeded beds. 

Inside, was the tall old semi-circular sideboard, 
with gingerbread grooves carved all over it ; and 
the real brass dogs, with heads on their fore- 
paws, were lying in the fire-place, under the lilac 
boughs ; and the square, plain table stood in the 
midst, with its glossy white cloth that touched 
the floor at the corners, and on it were the iden- 
tical pink mugs, and a tall glass pitcher of milk, 
and plates of the thinnest and sweetest bread and 
butter, and early strawberries in a white basket 
lined with leaves, and the traditional round 
frosted cakes upon a silver plate with a network 
rim. 

And Luclarion and Mrs. Ripwinkley waited 
upon them all, and it was still no party, to be 
compared or thought of with any salad and ice- 
pudding and Germania-band affair, such as they 
had had all winter ; but something utterly fresh 



2^6 "COCKLES and crambo." 

and new and by itself, — place, and entertain- 
ment, and people, and all. 

After tea, they went out into the garden ; and 
there, under the shady horse-chestnuts, was a 
swing; and there were balls with which Hazel 
showed them how to play " class ; " tossing in 
turn against the high brick wall, and taking their 
places up and down, according to the number of 
their catches. It was only Miss Craydocke's 
"Thread the needle" that got them in again; 
and after that, she showed them another simple 
old dancing game, the " Winding Circle," from 
which they were all merrily and mysteriously 
untwisting themselves with Miss Craydocke's 
bright little thin face and her fluttering cap rib- 
bons, and her spry little trot leading them suc- 
cessfully off, when the door opened, and the 
grand Mr. Geoffrey walked in ; the man who 
could manage State Street, and who had stood at 
the right hand of Governor and President, with 
his clear brain, and big purse, and generous hand, 
through the years of the long, terrible war ; the 



"cockles and crambo." 237 

man whom it was something for great people to 
get to their dinners, or to have walk late into an 
evening drawing-room and dignify an occasion 
for the last half hour. 

Mrs. Ripwinkley was just simply glad to see 
him ; so she was to see Kenneth Kincaid, who 
came a few minutes after, just as Luclarion 
brought the tray of sweetmeats in, which Mrs. 
Ripwinkley had so far innovated upon the gra- 
cious-grandmother plan as to have after tea, 
instead of before. 

The beautiful cockles and their rhymes got 
their heads all together around the large table, 
for the eating and the reading. Mr. Geoffrey 
and Uncle Titus sat talking European politics 
together, a little aside. The sugar-plums lasted 
a good while, with the chatter over them ; and 
then, before they quite knew what it was all for, 
they had got slips of paper and lead pencils 
before them, and there was to be a round of 
" Crambo " to wind up. 

" Oh, I don't know how ! " and " I never can ! " 



238 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO." 

were the first words, as they always are, when it 
was explained to the uninitiated ; but Miss Cray- 
docke assured them that " everybody could ; " 
and Hazel said that " nobody expected real po- 
etry; it needn't be more than two lines, and those 
might be blank verse, if they were very hard, but 
jingles were better; and so the questions. and 
the words were written and folded, and the 
papers were shuffled and opened amid outcries 
of, " Oh, this is awful ! " " What a. word to get 
in ! " " Why, they haven't the least thing to do 
with each other ! " 

" That's the beauty of it," said Miss Craydocke, 
unrelentingly ; " to make them have ; and it is 
funny how much things do have to do with each 
other when they once happen to come across." 

Then there were knit brows, and desperate 
scratch ings, and such silence that Mr. Geoffrey 
and Uncle Titus stopped short on the Alabama 
question, and looked round to see what the mat- 
ter was. 

Kenneth Kincaid had been modestly listening 






''COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 239 

to the older gentlemen, and now and then ven- 
turing to inquire or remark something, with an 
intelligence that attracted Mr. Geoffrey; and 
presently it came out that he had been south 
with the army ; and then Mr. Geoffrey asked 
questions of him, and they got upon Reconstruc- 
tion business, and comparing facts and exchang- 
ing conclusions, quite as if one was not a mere 
youth with only his eyes and his brains and his 
conscience to help him in his first grapple with 
the world in the tangle and crisis at which he 
found it, and the other a grave, practiced, keen- 
judging man, the counsellor of national leaders. 

After all, they had no business to bring the 
great, troublesome, heavy-weighted world into a 
child's party. I wish men never would ; though 
it did not happen badly, as it all turned out, that 
they did a little of it in this instance. If they 
had thought of it, " Crambo " was good for them 
too, for a change ; and presently they did think 
of it ; for Dorris called out in distress, real or 
pretended, from the table, — 



240 "COCKLES and crambo. 

" Kentie, here's something you must really 
take off my hands! I haven't the least idea what 
to do with it." 

And then came a cry from Hazel, — 

" No fair ! We're all just as badly off, and 
there isn't one of us that has got a brother to 
turn to. Here's another for Mr. Kincaid." 

" There are plenty more. Come, Mr. Oldways, 
Mr. Geoffrey, won't you try ' Crambo ' ? There's 
a good deal in it, as there is in most nonsense." 

" We'll come and see what it is," said Mr. 
Geoffrey ; and so the chairs were drawn up, and 
the gray, grave heads looked on over the young 
ones. 

" Why, Hazel's got through ! " said Lois, 
scratching violently at her paper, and obliterat- 
ing three obstinate lines. 

" Oh, I didn't bother, you see! I just stuck 
the word right in, like a pin into a pincushion, 
and let it go. There wasn't anything else to do 
with it." 

" I've got to make my pincushion," said Dorris. 



"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 24I 

" I should think you had ! Look at her ! She's 
writing her paper all over ! Oh, my gracious, 
she must have done it before ! " 

" Mother and Mr. Geoffrey are doing heaps, 
too ! We shall have to publish a book," said 
Diana, biting the end of her pencil, and taking it 
easy. Diana hardly ever got the rhymes made 
in time ; but then she always admired every- 
body's else, which was a good thing for some- 
body to be at leisure to do. 

" Uncle Oldways and Lilian are folding up/' 
said Hazel. 

" Five minutes more," said Miss Craydocke, 
keeping the time with her watch before her. 
" Hush ! " 

When the five minutes were rapped out, there 
were seven papers to be read. People who had 
not finished this time might go on when the 
others took fresh questions. 

Hazel began reading, because she had been 
ready first. 



242 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO." 

" ' What is the difference between sponge-cake 
and doughnuts ? ' ' Hallelujah.' " 

"'Airiness, lightness, and insipidity; 
Twistiness, spiciness, and solidity. 
Hallelujah ! I've got through ! 
That is the best that I can do ! " 

There was a shout at Hazel's pinsticking. 
" Now, Uncle Titus ! You finished next." 
" My question is a very comprehensive one," 
said Uncle Titus, with a very concise and sug- 
gestive word. ' How wags the world ? ' ' Slam- 
bang.' " 

" ' The world wags on 
With lies and slang ; 
With show and vanity, 
Pride and inanity, 
Greed and insanity, 
And a great slambang ! ' ! 

u That's only one verse," said Miss Craydocke. 






"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 243 

" There's another ; but he didn't write it down." 
Uncle Titus laughed, and tossed his Crambo 

on the table. " It's true, so far, anyway," said he. 
" So far is hardly ever quite true," said Miss 

Craydocke. 

Lilian Ashburne had to answer the question 

whether she had ever read " Young's Night 

Thoughts," and her word was " Comet." 

" 'Pray might I be allowed a pun, 

To help me through with just this one? 

I've tried to read Young's Thoughts of Night, 

But never yet could come it, quite.' " 

"O, O, O! That's just like Lilian, with her 
soft little ' prays ' and ' allow me's,' and her little 
pussy-cat ways of sliding through tight places, 
just touching her whiskers ! " 

" It's quite fair," said Lilian, smiling, " to slide 
through if you can." 

" Now, Mr. Geoffrey." 

And Mr. Geoffrey read, — 

" ' What is your favorite color ? ' ' One-hoss.' " 



244 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 

" ' Do you mean, my friend, for a one-hoss shay, 
Or the horse himself, — black, roan, or bay ? 
In truth, I think I can hardly say ; 
I believe, for a nag, " I bet on the gray." 

* ' For a shay, I would rather not have yellow, 
Or any outright, staring color, 
That makes the crowd look after a fellow, 
And the little gamins hoot and bellow. 

" ' Do you mean for ribbons ? or gowns ? or eyes? 
Or flowers ? or gems ? or in sunset skies ? 
For many questions, as many replies, 
Drops of a rainbow take rainbow dyes. 

" ' The world is full, and the world is bright ; 
Each thing to its nature parts the light ; 
And each for its own to the Perfect sight 
Wears that which is comely, and sweet, and 
right.' " 

" O, Mr. Geoffrey ! That's lovely ! " cried the 
girl-voices, all around him. And Ada made a 
pair of great eyes at her father, and said, — 



"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 245 

" What an awful humbug you have been, papa ! 
To have kept the other side up with care all 
your life ! Who ever suspected that of you ? " 

Diana and Hazel were not taken so much by 
surprise ; their mother had improvised little nurs- 
ery jingles for them all their baby days, and had 
played Crambo with them since ; so they were 
very confident with their " Now, mother:" and 
looked calmly for something creditable. 

" ' What is your favorite name ? ' " read Mrs. 
Ripwinkley. " And the word is ' Stuff.' " 

" ' When I was a little child, 
Looking very meek and mild, 
I liked grand, heroic names, — 
Of. warriors, or stately dames : 
Zenobia, and Cleopatra; 
[No rhyme for that this side Sumatra;] 
Wallace, and Helen Mar, — Clotilda, 
Berengaria, and Brunhilda ; 
Maximilian ; Alexandra ; 
Hertor, Juno, and Cassandra ; 



246 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 



> j 



Charlemagne and Britomarte, 
Washington and Bonaparte; 
Victoria and Guinevere, 
And Lady Clara Vere de Vere. 
— Shall I go on with all this stuff, 
Or do you think it is enough ? 
I cannot tell you what dear name 
I love the best ; I play a game ; 
And tender earnest doth belong 
To quiet speech, not silly song.' " 

" That's just like mother ; I should have 
stopped as soon as I'd got the ' stuff ' in ; but she 
always shapes off with a little morriowl," said 
Hazel. " Now, Desire ! " 

Desire frantically scribbled a long line at the 
end of what she had written ; below, that is, a 
great black morass of scratches that represented 
significantly the " Slough of Despond " she had 
got into over the winding up, and then gave, — 

" ' Which way would you rather travel, — north 
or south ? ' ' Goosey-gander.' " 



"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 247 

" ' O, goosey-gander ! 

If I might wander, 
It should be toward the sun ; 

The blessed South 

Should fill my mouth 
With ripeness just begun. 

For bleak hills, bare, 

With stunted, spare, 
And scrubby, piney trees, 

Her gardens rare, 

And vineyards fair, 
And her rose-scented breeze. 

For fearful blast, 

Skies overcast, 
And sudden blare and scare, 

Long, stormless moons, 

And placid noons, 
And — all sorts of comfortablenesses, — 
there ! ' " 

" That makes me think of father's horse run- 
ning away with him once," said Helena, " when 



248 "COCKLES AND CRAMBO." 

he had to head him right up against a brick wail, 
and knock everything all to smash before he 
could stop 1 " 

" Anybody else ? " 

"Miss Kincaid, I think/' said Mr. Geoffrey. 
He had been watching Dorris* face through the 
play, flashing and smiling with the excitement of 
her rhyming, and the slender, nervous fingers 
twisting tremulously the penciled slip while she 
had listened to the others. 

" If it isn't all rubbed out," said Dorris, color- 
ing and laughing to find how badly she had been 
treating her own effusion. 

" You see it was rather an awful question, — 
1 What do you want most ?/ And the word is 
« Thirteen/ " 

She caught her breath a little quickly as she 
began : — 

" ' Between yourself, dear, myself, and the post, 
There are the thirteen things that I want the 
most. 






"COCKLES AND CRAMBO. 249 

I want to be, sometimes, a little stronger ; 

I want the days to be a little longer ; 

I'd like to have a few less things to do ; 

I'd better like to better do the few : 

I want — and this might almost lead my 

wishes, — 
A bigger place to keep my mops and dishes. 
I want a horse ; I want a little buggy, 
To ride in when the days grow hot and muggy; 
I want a garden ; and, — perhaps it's funny, — 
But now and then I want a little money. 
I want an easy way to do my hair ; 
I want an extra dress or two to wear ; 
I want more patience ; and when all is given, 
I think I want to die and go to heaven ! ' ' 

" I never saw such bright people in all my 
life ! " said Ada Geoffrey, when the outcry of ap- 
plause for Dorris had subsided, and they began 
to rise to go. " But the worst of all is papa ! I'll 
never get over it of you, see if I do ! Such a 
cheat ! Why, it's like playing dumb all your 



250 "COCKLES and crambo.'* 

life, and then just speaking up suddenly in a 
quiet way, some day, as if it was nothing particu- 
lar, and nobody cared ! " 

With Hazel's little divining-rod, Mrs. Ripwink- 
ley had reached out, testing the world for her, to 
see what some of it might be really made of. 
Mrs. Geoffrey, from her side, had reached out in 
turn, also, into this fresh and simple opportunity, 
to see what might be there worth while. 

" How was it, Aleck ? " she asked of her hus- 
band, as they sat together in her dressing-room, 
while she brushed out her beautiful hair. 

" Brightest" people I have been among for a 
long time — and nicest," said the banker, con- 
cisely. " A real, fresh little home, with a mother 
in it. Good place for Ada to go, and good girls 
for her to know ; like the ones I fell in love with 
a hundred years ago." 

" That rhymed oracle, — to say nothing of the 
fraction of a compliment, — ought to settle it," 
said Mrs. Geoffrey, laughing. 



"cockles and crambo. 251 

" Rhymes have been the order of the evening. 
I expect to talk in verse for a week at least." 

And then he told her about the " Crambo." A 
week after, Mrs. Ledwith was astonished to find, 
lying on the mantel in her sister's room, a card 
that had been sent up the day before, — 
" Mrs. Alexander H. Geoffrey." 

" Real Folks. "—Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 





THE HUSKING FROLIC. 



There were busy hands in the rustling sheaves, 
And the crash of corn in its golden fall, 

With a cheerful stir of the dry husk-leaves, 
And a spirit of gladness over all. 

The barn was a vast rustic bower that night. 
One end was heaped with corn ready for husk- 
ing ; the floor was neatly swept; and overhead 
the rafters were concealed by heavy garlands of 
white pine, golden maple leaves, and red oak 
branches, that swept from the roof downwards 
like a tent. Butternut leaves wreathed their 
clustering gold among the dark green hemlock, 

while sumach cones, with flame-colored leaves, 

(252) 



THE HUSKING FROLIC. 253 

shot through the gorgeous forest branches. The 
rustic chandelier was in full blaze, while now and 
then a candle gleamed out through the garlands, 
starring them to the roof. Still, the illumination 
was neither broad nor bold, but shed a delicious 
starlight through the barn, that left much to the 
imagination, and concealed a thousand little signs 
of love-making that would have been ventured 
on more slily had the light been broader. 

But the candles were aided by a host of spark- 
ling eyes. The air was warm and rich with 
laughter and pleasant nonsense, bandied from 
group to group amid the rustling of cornhusks 
and the dash of golden ears, as they fell upon the 
heap that swelled larger and larger with every 
passing minute. 

Uncle Nathan's great arm-chair had been 
placed in the centre of the barn, just beneath the 
hoop of lights. There he sat, ruddy and smiling, 
the very impersonation of a ripe harvest, with an 
iron fire-shovel fastened in some mysterious man- 
ner across his seat, a large splint basket between 



254 THE HUSKING FROLIC. 

bis knees, working away with an energy that 
brought the perspiration like rain to his forehead. 
Up and down across the sharp edge of the shovel, 
he drew the slender corn, sending a shower of 
golden kernels into the basket with every pull of 
his arm, and stooping now and then with a well- 
pleased smile to even down the corn as it rose 
higher and higher in his basket. 

Our old friend Salina sat at a little distance, 
with her fiery tresses rolled in upright puffs over 
each temple, and her great horn-comb towering 
therein like a battlement. A calico gown with 
very gay colors straggling over it. like honey- 
suckles and buttercups on a hill-side, adorned her 
lathy person, leaving a trim foot visible upon a 
bundle of stalks just within range of Uncle Nat's 
eye. Not that Salina intended it, or that Uncle 
Nat had any particular regard for neatly clad 
feet, but your strong-minded woman has an 
instinct which is sure to place the few charms 
sparsely distributed to the class, in conspicuous 
relief on all occasions. 



THE HUSKING FROLIC. 255 

As Salina sat perched on the base of the corn- 
stalk, tearing away vigorously at the husks, she 
cast an admiring glance now and then on the old 
man as his head rose and fell to the motion of 
his hands ; but that glance was directly with- 
drawn with a defiant toss of the head, for Uncle 
Nat's eyes never once turned on the trim foot 
with its calf-skin shoe, much less on its owner, 
who began to be a little exasperated, as maidens 
of her class will when their best points are over- 
looked. 

" Humph ! " muttered the maiden, looking 
down at her calico, " one misrht as well have 
come with a linsey-woolsey frock on for what any 
body cares." In order to relieve these exasper- 
ated feelings Salina seized an ear of corn by the 
dead silk and rent away the entire husk at once ; 
when lo ! a long, plump red ear appeared, the 
very thing that half a dozen of the prettiest girls 
on the stalk-heap had been searching and wish- 
ing for all the evening. 

This discovery was hailed with a shout, The 



2K6 the husking frolic. 

possession of a red ear, according to the estab- 
lished usage of all husking parties, entitled every 
gentleman present to a kiss from the holder. 

The barn rang again with a clamor of voices 
and shouts of merry laughter. There was a gen- 
eral crashing down of ears upon the corn-heap. 
The roguish girls that had failed in finding the 
red ear, all abandoned wqrk and began dancing 
over the stalk-heap, clapping their hands like 
mad things, and sending shout after shout of 
mellow laughter that went ringing cheerily 
among the starlit evergreens overhead. 

But the young men, after the first wild shout, 
remained unusually silent, looking sheepishly on 
each other with a shy unwillingness to commence 
duty. No one seemed urgent to be first, and 
this very awkwardness set the girls off like mad 
again. 

There sat Salina, amid the merry dim, bran- 
dishing the red ear in her hand, with a grim 
smile upon her mouth, prepared for a desperate 
defence. 



THE HUSKING FROLIC. 257 

" What's the matter, why don't you begin ? " 
cried a pretty, black-eyed piece of mischief, from 
the top of the stalk-heap ; " why, before this 
time, I thought you would have been snatching 
kisses by handsful." 

" I'd like to see them try, that's all ! " said the 
strong-minded female, sweeping a glance of 
scornful defiance over the young men. 

" Now, Joseph Nash, are you agoing to stand 
that ? " cried the pretty piece of mischief to a 
handsome young fellow that had haunted her 
neighborhood all the evening ; " afraid to fight 
for a kiss, are you ? " 

" No, not exactly ! " said Joseph, rolling back 
,his wristbands and settling himself in his clothes ; 
" it's the after-clap, if I shouldn't happen to 
please," he added, in a whisper, that brought his 
lips so close to the cheek of his fair tormentor, 
that he absolutely gathered toll from its peachy 
bloom before starting on his pilgrimage, a toll 
that brought the glow still more richly to her 
face. 



258 THE HUSKING FROLIC. 

The maiden laughing, till the tears sparkled in 
her eyes, pushed him toward Salina in revenge. 

But Salina lost no time in placing herself on 
the defensive. She started up, flung the bundle 
of stalks on which she had been seated at the 
head of her assailant, kicked up a tornado of 
loose husks with her trim foot, and stood bran- 
dishing her red ear furiously, as if it had been a 
dagger in the hand of Lady Macbeth, rather than 
inoffensive food for chickens. 

" Keep your distance, Joe Nash ; keep clear 
of me, now I tell you; I ain't afraid of the face 
of man ; so back out of this while you have a 
chance, you can't kiss me, I tell you, without you 
are stronger than I be, and I know you are ! " 

" I shan't — shan't I ? " answered Joe, who 
was reinforced by half a dozen laughing young- 
sters, all eager for a frolic ; " well, I never did 
take a stump from a gal in my life, so here goes 
for that kiss." 

Joe bounded forward as he spoke, and made a 
snatch at Salina with his great hands ; but, with 






THE HUSKING FROLIC. 259 

the quickness of a deer, she sprang aside, leaving 
her black silk apron in his grasp. Another 
plunge, and down came the ear of corn across his 
head, rolling a shower of red kernels among his 
thick brown hair. 

But Joe had secured his hold, and after another 
dash, that broke her ear of corn in twain, Salina 
was left defenceless, with nothing but her two 
hands to fight with ; but she plied these with 
great vigor, leaving long, crimson rnarks upon 
her assailant's cheeks with every blow, till, in 
very self-defence, he was compelled to lessen the 
distance between her face and his, thus receiving 
her assault upon his shoulders. 

To this day it is rather doubtful if Joe Nash 
really did gather the fruits of his victory. If he 
did, no satisfactory report was made to the eager 
ring of listeners ; and Salina stalked away from 
him with an air of ineffable disdain, as if her 
defeat had been deprived of its just reward. 

But the red ear gave rights to more than one, 
and, in her surprise, Salina was taken unawares 



260 THE HUSKING FROLIC. 

by some, who had no roguish black-eyed lady- 
loves behind them. There was no doubt in the 
matter now. Salina paid her penalty more than 
once, and with a degree of resignation that was 
really charming to behold. Once or twice she 
was seen in the midst of the malee, to cast quick 
glances toward Uncle Nathan, who sat in his 
easy-chair laughing till the tears streamed down 
his cheeks. 

Then there rose a loud clamor of cries and 
laughter for Uncle Nathan to claim his share of 
the fun. Salina declared that she gave up — that 
she was out of breath — that she couldn't expect 
to hold her own with a child of three years old. 
In truth, she made several strides toward the 
centre of the barn, covering the movement with 
great generalship, by any attempt to gather up 
her hair and fasten the comb in securely, which 
was generous and womanly, considering how in- 
convenient it would have been for Uncle Nat, 
with all his weight, to have walked over the 
mountain of corn-stalks. 



THE HUSKING FROLIC. 26 1 

" Come, hurry up, Uncle Nat, before she 
catches breath again," cried half a dozen voices, 
and the girls began to dance and clap their hands 
like mad things once more. " Uncle Nat, Uncle 
Nat, it's your turn — it's your turn now ! " 

Uncle Nathan threw the half-shelled ear upon 
the loose corn in his basket, placed a plump hand 
on each arm of his chair, and lifted himself to a 
standing posture. He moved deliberately toward 
the maiden, who was still busy with her lurid 
tresses. His brown eyes glistened, a broad, 
bland smile spread and deepened over his face, 
and stealing one heavy arm around Salinas waist 
— who gave a little shriek as if quite taken by 
surprise — he decorously placed a firm and mod- 
est salute upon the unresisting — I am not sure 
that it was not the answering — lips of that 
strong-minded woman. 

How unpleasant this duty may have been to 
Uncle Nat I cannot pretend to say ; but there 
was a genial redness about his face when he 
turned it to the light, as if it had caught a reflec- 



262 THE HUSKING FROLIC. 

tion from Salina's tresses, and his brown eyes 
were flooded with sunshine, as if the whole affair 
had been rather agreeable than otherwise. 

In fact, considering that the old man had been 
very decidedly out of practice in that kind of 
amusement, Uncle Nat acquitted himself fa- 
mously. 

When the troop of mischievous girls flocked 
around, tantalizing him with fresh shouts of 
laughter and eyes full of glee, the dear old fel- 
low's face brightened with mischief akin to their 
own. His twinkling eyes turned from face to 
face, as if puzzled which saucy mouth to silence 
first. But the first stride forward brought him 
knee deep into the corn-stalks, and provoked a 
burst of laughter that made the garlands on the 
rafters tremble again. Away sprang the girls to 
the very top of the heap, wild with glee and dar- 
ing him to follow. 

The tumult aroused Salina. She twisted up 
her hair with a quick sweep of the hand, thrust 
the comb in as if it had been a pitchfork, and 



THE HUSKING FROLIC. 263 

darting forward, seized Uncle Nat by the arm 
just as he was about to make a second plunge 
after his pretty tormentors. 

Slowly and steadily, that strong-minded female 
wheeled the defenceless man round till he faced 
the arm-chair. Then quietly insinuating that 
" he had better not make an old fool of himself 
more than once a day," she cast a look of scorn- 
ful triumph upon the crowd of naughty girls, and 
moved back to her place again. 

The youngsters now all fell to work more 
cheerfully for this burst of fun. The stalks 
rustled, the corn flashed downward, the golden 
heap grew and swelled to the light, slowly and 
surely, like a miser's gold. All went merrily on. 
Among those who worked least and laughed 
loudest, was the little constable that had taken 
so deep an interest in the affair that morning. 
Never did two ferret eyes twinkle so brightly, or 
peer more closely into every nook and corner. 

Two or three times Mary Fuller entered the 
barn, whispered a few words to Uncle Nat or 



264 THE HUSKING FROLIC. 

Salina, and retreated again. At last Aunt Han- 
nah appeared, hushing the mirth as night shad- 
ows drink up the sunshine. ^ 

She made a telegraphic sign to Salina, who 
instantly proceeded to tie on her apron, and com- 
municate with Uncle Nathan, who arose from 
his seat, spreading his hands as if about to be- 
stow a benediction upon the whole company, and 
desired that the ladies would follow Salina into 
the house, where they would find a barrel of new 
cider just tapped in the stoop, and some ginger- 
cake and such things set out in the front room. 

As for the gentlemen, it was always manners 
for them to wait till the fair sex was served, 
besides, all hands would be wanted to clear out 
the barn for a frolic after supper 

Down came the girls like a flock of birds, chat- 
ting, laughing, and throwing coquettish glances 
behind, as they followed Salina from the barn. 
Up sprang the young men, clearing away stalks, 
kicking the husks before them in clouds, and 
cai rying them off by armsf ul, till a corn-house in 



THE HUSKING FROLIC 



265 



the yard was choked up with them, and the barn 
was left with nothing but its evergreen garlands, 
its starry lights, and a golden heap of corn slop- 
ing down from each corner. 

" The Old Homestead." — Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. 





PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 



A party of gay young girls were fluttering 
like a crowd of butterflies about the lawn and 
portico of a handsome mansion in the village of 
St. Clair, State of Michigan. The rich grass of 
this lawn, which sloped down a gentle hill-side, 
was besprent with the original wild roses which 
had bloomed there for generations before the first 
stone was laid of the house which now looked 
down upon them with a civilized and stately air. 
They had never been ruthlessly turned from the 
native beds where they blushed in beautiful mod- 
esty, although a fine walk, bordered with flowers 
dressed in cultivated charms, led up to the por- 
ticos, at either end of which a magnificent oak 
!266) 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 267 

flourished, giving the place its appropriate name 
of Oak Hill. 

The owners and inhabitants of the mansion 
were a young couple from one of the eastern 
cities, who made this a summer residence, be- 
cause the business of the husband called him 
hither, and the wife was much too fond of him 
to think of spending " the season " away from 
him at any of the fashionable resorts. Neverthe- 
less, the young bride sometimes found it lonely 
in a place so far removed from the society of 
former friends, and this summer she had per- 
suaded a younger sister to share her new home 
with her, instead of going with their parents to 
the seaside. It was only after promising her 
faithfully that she should not be devoured by 
mosquitoes, bears, or " sarpents," carried off by 
Indians, nor fed exclusively upon corn-cakes, that 
she succeeded in wiling this sister so far into the 
barbarous Arcadia. After getting her here, it 
was in an attempt to make time pass pleasantly 
to her, that the mistress of the house had invited 



268 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

a few of the young ladies of the place to take tea 
with them. This radiant bevy of girls it was 
who, tea being over, were now enjoying the 
splendor of sunset out of doors. 

Mr. and Mrs. Florence, the host and hostess, 
stood in the door regarding the laughing group 
with smiling faces. He was a bright fine-looking 
man, the embodiment of enterprise and energy ; 
yet the flute and the volume of " Cousin " which 
lay on the chair near him, as well as many out 
and in-door evidences of his taste and culture, 
proved that, while a man of business, he was not 
solely " a business man." It was evident that 
his pretty, intellectual-browed wife regarded him 
in another light, as her white hand sought his 
shoulder and she turned her beaming blue eyes 
upon him with a glance full of devotion. She 
respected the ability which was fast surrounding 
her with the accessories of wealth, but she loved 
the fine sentiments, blended with a touch of 
chivalry, and the noble qualities which had first 
attracted her regard. He, too, was looking, with 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 269 

quite the old lover-like air, at her brown ringlets 
and pure complexion, now softly flushed by the 
sunset light. 

" Do look at Anne, George ! isn't she beautiful 
just now ? " said the wife, as her eyes chanced to 
fall upon her sister. 

Anne had been wandering over the lawn with 
the others, gathering rose-buds as she went, until 
she had her hat full, and she was now seated on 
the steps, swiftly weaving them into a long gar- 
land, with which she intended to drape the mar- 
ble urn which stood near her. Her light silk 
dress lay around her with that kind of airy grace 
which distinguished everything she wore. As 
she bent over her work, her hair fell in clusters 
of dark curls upon her shoulders, and they could 
see her cheeks glowing through their shadow 
with the richest hue of health and youth. As 
she finished her garland, she arose to adjust it, 
when a transfiguration of the landscape, which 
the glory of the sunset had wrought, startled her, 



270 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

and she stood with kindling eyes, her own fair 
person bathed in the ruddy light. 

At the foot of the hill, separated from it only 
by a picturesque road, the river St. Clair flowed 
broad, swift, and majestic, its waters tinged with 
as rich a purple as ever the Bay of Naples could 
boast beneath an Italian sky. Some twenty or 
thirty vessels were in sight, their sails taking on 
a most cloud-like and spiritual effect from the 
rosy atmosphere. The Canadian shore, in many 
places clothed with forest to the water's edge, 
was just far enough away to have its reality put 
on a dream-like air. The scene was lovely, as 
Anne Helfenstein felt it to be. The young 
ladies, generally, who were making merry enjoy- 
ing the freshness of the lawn, did not seem to 
care for the beauty of the hour, as young ladies 
are apt not to have much appreciation of fine 
scenery, except for riding and boating purposes, 
nor for fine weather, except that it is favorable to 
best dresses and promenades. So they soon 
called Anne from her reverie, and gathering 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 2^\ 

around Mr. Florence, they begged him for some 
music. 

" By-and-by I will play for you ; but, in the 
mean time, I wish to get your approval of a plan 
for an excursion." 

"An excursion ! Oh, that is delightful ! Shall 
it be a boat-ride to the island, and a picnic be- 
neath the old apple-tree, planted there by the 
French a hundred years ago ? or a carriage ride 
to the fort ? or what ? " 

" Oh, a much more serious affair ! " replied Mr. 
Florence. " I have just been thinking of it, and 
have not yet spoken of it even to Lissa here. I 
warn you that but few of you will be pleased 
with the idea ; only those who have plenty of 
courage, health, and a spice of adventure in their 
composition, will accept the proposition. You 
know I had to go up to Thunder Bay, last au- 
tumn, and wander around in that wild region for 
three weeks, with no company except that of my 
two men. I was desperately lonely ; but I should 
have enjoyed it with good company. Why can't 



272 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

a party of you ladies propose yourselves for a 
regular camping-out frolic, and go along with me 
next time ? I will promise to arm and equip the 
volunteers, and to find two or three gallant men 
to act as sentinels and aids-de-camp." 

" Mercy ! I wouldn't go for the world ! " 
screamed little Miss Higgins. 

"It would ruin our complexion ! " observed 
Miss Dahlia, the beauty of the village. 

And " Dear me ! what an idea ! " said the 
others. 

" But are you in earnest, George ? " asked his 
wife. " Could we do it ? Is there really no dan- 
ger from Indians or wild animals, nor too great 
hardships to be endured ? " 

" I did not meet an Indian while I was out, 
last fall ; and should there be any, they will be 
friendly. We might meet a bear, but we will go 
prepared for that ; a little excitement will be de- 
lightful, you know ! We will not start until the 
September frosts have killed any mosquitos there 
may be lurking in the depths of the woods. As 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 273 

for complexion, Miss Dahlia, I will promise to 
bring you all back plumper, rosier, and hand- 
somer than when you set out — a little darker, 
more akin to the dusky maidens of the wood — 
but all the more enchanting for that. Fried 
bark will be an excellent dish, in case we get out 
of other provisions. And a race, you know, with 
a bear or a ' painter,' will give you a chance to 
show which of you can ma,ke the best time." 

Here a general scream arose from the ladies, 
followed by a little laugh. 

" I, for one, am ready to make one of your 
party," said sister Anne. " You think I am only 
an affected city girl, because my bonnet is just 
as lovely and as fashionable as it can be. But 
you will see that I can don a straw hat and 
squaw pantalettes with just as good a grace ! 
Oh, dear, I am so impatient ! How soon do you 
think of going, brother George ? " 

He looked at the beautiful girl and laughed. 

" Well said for you, Anne ! Let a few more 



274 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

enroll their names, and the list will be satisfac- 
tory." 

" But what gentlemen will accompany us ? " 
asked Miss Dahlia. 

" Gentlemen ! " exclaimed Mr. Florence, in 
much surprise. " Don't expect to have any ! 
One or two savages besides myself, but nobody 
nice enough to help you over logs, or shoot birds 
for your breakfast." 

" Did you not say we should be escorted by 
' gallant men ' ? " asked the beauty, in a disap- 
pointed tone. " Oh, I am certain I shall not 
wish to go, on account of the panthers : besides, 
I take cold so easily." 

Anne looked slyly a*side at her brother, as the 
lady aroused herself thus, and now her eyes were 
as full of mirthful scorn as awhile ago they had 
been of poetic reverie. 

So much talking and discussion of pro's and 
con's now occurred, that the music was forgotten, 
and it was time for the company to disperse be- 
fore the matter was thoroughly settled. Three 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 275 

others pledged themselves to the adventure, 
besides Anne and Mrs. Florence ; and this num- 
ber was considered sufficient, though two or 
three more recruits, if they should offer them- 
selves, would not be rejected. 

Sallie Wildman, a dashing creature, not hand- 
some, but full of spirit — one of those who always 
ride the fleetest horses and dance the greatest 
number of times, and who, despite their want of 
beauty, are always attractive on account of their 
gayety — was the first to enlist. She was fol- 
lowed by Jessie Lincoln, a sweet little gipsy, not 
a bit afraid of her complexion, which was already 
as brown as it could be. Miss Dahlia, despite 
her protestations, brought up the rear, she having 
overheard Mrs. Florence remark to her busband 
that Dick Burton would be a good person to 
invite. 

Dick Burton was the gentleman at whom she 
was at present levelling the full power of her 
large hazel eyes, whenever she had opportunity. 

It was arranged that they were to start about 



2/6 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

the 25th of September, when the weather was 
usually the fairest, to be gone at least three 
weeks. Mr. Florence was to superintend all 
arrangements for the comfort and safety of .the 
trip. The ladies were only to look out for stout 
shoes, gloves, and dresses. 

It was the last day of summer when the propo- 
sition was made. Anne Helfenstein could hardly 
wait for the twenty-fifth. At her suggestion, the 
costume prepared for the occasion was a demi- 
Bloomer dress, combining comfort, lightness, 
freedom of motion, and a piquancy of look quite 
becoming to the youthful wearers. This dress 
Avas not to be exhibited to the gentlemen until 
they were actually mustered for the expedition. 

Anne had preserved, from a child, her love of 
the beautiful in nature. If she enjoyed a merry 
dance in the salons of a watering-place, of a sum- 
mer evening, she was perhaps even more per- 
fectly happy sitting on some moonlit rock with 
the salt spray of the ocean dashing at her feet. 
Full of sentiment as she was, she had never been 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 277 

in love. Eighteen years of age, and never been 
in love! In truth, this wayward and yet gentle, 
capricious and yet tender, proud and yet humble 
young girl had some peculiar notions of her own 
about the grand passion, which nobody under- 
stood — for she had never come to an under- 
standing with anybody upon the subject. 

She had an airy and prettily-furnished chamber 
in her sister's house, which overlooked the river 
for miles. It was a constant delight to her to sit 
and weave intangible tissues of dreams as she 
watched the shadows and the varying tints sweep 
over the river. Usually it was of a deep blue, 
but when the cold breezes from the north stirred 
it into deeper ripples, rich purples and greens, 
and flashes of gold would sail over its surface. 
There was plenty of life upon it, too, from the 
tiny skiff which plied like a shuttle from shore to 
shore, to the great steamers, burdened with pro- 
duce and laden with passengers, which went puff- 
ing by on the way to Chicago and the upper 
lakes. 



278 PICNICKING IN THE PIPE WOODS. 

Often the sound of their labored breathing 
would break in upon her midnight sleep, and she 
would spring from her bed and sit in her window 
to watch them passing almost at her feet, their 
colored lights trembling like inverted rainbows in 
the shimmering waters, and all the solitudes of 
darkness broken by their echoes. 

The morning of the twenty-fifth of September 
came at last. The dull days of the equinoctial 
storm were over, and the weather was resplen- 
dent. The group of adventurers gathered upon 
the dock, awaiting the steamer upon which they 
were to embark. There had been a question as 
to whether they should venture the whole journey 
in a sail-boat, or have their, boat taken in tow by 
the steamer, until they reached Saginaw, the last 
port this side of Thunder Bay. The most of the 
party were in favor of trusting entirely to sails, 
and eschewing steam upon this occasion, but, 
owing to the pleadings of Miss Dahlia, they had 
finally agreed upon the steamer. Their provi- 
sions, blankets, tents, including their whole kit, 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 279 

was safely stowed away in their little vessel, 
which rocked itself with an impatient air at the 
idea of being tied to its mother's apron-strings. 

" Call the roll," commanded Captain George, 
as the distant puffing of the expected boat was 
heard. 

Sergeant Dick Burton stepped forward with a 
roll which looked wondrously as if there might 
be a link of Bologna sausage inside. He wore 
buckskin breeches and a hunting-shirt, with a 
brace of pistols and a knife stuck in his belt. 
He looked so fierce in his bear-skin cap that Miss 
Dahlia gave an involuntary little shriek and gig- 
gle ; but confessed to herself, the next moment, 
that she had never seen him look so irresistible. 
Sergeant Dick was a tall, athletic fellow, of true 
western growth, vigorous as the pines which had 
waved above his infancy, a dangerous youth, 
fitted to cope with savages, or to troll a love-song 
to the tinkling of his guitar of a moonlit evening 
on the sweet St. Clair. 

His black eyes flashed with a sudden admira- 



280 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

tion as he called out "Anne Helfenstein," and 
heard the silvery response of " Here ! " How 
charming she looked in her trim little calf-skin 
boots, her full trousers gathered down to the 
dainty ankle, her rather short skirt, and broad- 
brimmed hat tied beneath her chin with rose- 
colored ribbon. She, too, had a leather belt 
about her waist in which was stuck a knife with 
a blade some five or six inches in length. 

" Lizzie Florence ! " 

" Here ! " 

( He had forgotten to give precedence to the 
married lady, as a gallant officer should, the mo- 
ment his eye had rested upon sister Anne.) 

" Sallie Wildman ! " 

" Here ! " 

"Jessie Lincoln ! " 

" Here ! " 

"Clementine Dahlia!" 

" Here ! " 

" Harry Hugay ! " 

" Here ! " 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 251 

Harry Hugay "was a host in himself." The 
ladies were all in uniform — even Miss Dahlia 
had a knife in a belt. Upon being questioned as 
to the uses they expected to put their weapons 
to, she replied that " Miss Helfenstein had ad- 
vised their getting them, not only as a conven- 
ience to cut their bread and dried venison with, 
but to use in case of an emergency." 

" What would you call an emergency ? " in- 
quired Sergeant Dick. 

" Why, supposing a wild animal should make 
'an attack upon some small portion of the party 
who were separated from the rest," replied Anne, 
" and the guns should be mislaid, or should refuse 
to go off, and the creature actually got one of us 
in his embrace, a knife would do good service, 
would it not ? " 

" If she had the self-possession to use it — 
right in the eye," answered he, looking curiously 
at her, as her face took on a dauntless air at the 
picture of the danger she had drawn. 

" I should pursue the usual course of young 



282 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

ladies — faint away in his arms," laughed Jessie 
Lincoln. 

" I should die of horror ! " murmured Clemen- 
tine. 

Meantime, the Minne-ha-ha had rounded to her 
dock, ropes were thrown out, the plank made 
ready, and the party hurried upon deck ; the sail- 
boat was taken in tow, and with a rousing cheer 
from those on board and those who had gathered 
on the wharf, the party were fairly on their way. 

Heedless of the curiosity displayed by the 
many passengers, they gathered in a group upon 
the upper deck to enjoy the scenery. 

The weather gave promise of one of those long 
stretches of calm and sunshine which flow like a 
river of gold through a portion of our autumns. 
It was cool and brilliant. A purple splendor 
softened the horizon, and above the sky was deep 
and pure. Here and there, clusters of graceful 
elms dotted the yellow, sloping banks, and in 
places leaned over the water ; while wild grape- 
vines swung from them like sportive Undines 






PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 283 

who had filled their hands with grapes, and were 
ready to plunge into the cool depths which mir- 
rored them. Forests of oaks, maples and beeches, 
glowing with every gorgeous hue, and flanked by 
sombre pines, as they stood, motionless and Ti- 
tanic, beneath the yellow sunshine, made up an 
effect of inconceivable magnificence. 

They almost regretted leaving the enchanted 
river, when, after twelve miles of beauty, they 
passed the village of Port Huron and came upon 
the lovely head of the St. Clair, where the white 
buildings of Fort Gratiot gleam amid the pines 
which shadow the high banks. From thence 
Lake Huron spread away in a silver sheet, and 
they were soon upon its waters. 

It is needless to say that they were all unwill- 
ing to eat their first dinner after the regular 
humdrum manner, and to sleep, the first night 
out, in cosy berths in comfortable state-rooms. 
They were " eager for the fray," as Harry Hugay 
said — to begin the hardships and dangers for 
which they felt themselves so well prepared. 



234 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

They were therefore happy to steam into the 
harbor of the lumbering settlement at Saginaw, 
where they bade farewell to the Minne-ha-ha, 
twenty-six hours after embarking in her, and be- 
took themselves to their own little vessel, to the 
music of " Hail Columbia," and " Go it, Boots ! " 
as played by the brass band of the steamer. 

A stiff breeze from the right direction sent the 
" Wild Swan " flying over the water like a bird. 
The gentlemen were all good sailors, and con- 
trolled their fairy craft as easily as a mother 
would an obedient child. As the spray dashed 
from her prow like a shower of diamonds, the 
spirits of the ladies rose as fresh and bright as 
the morning air; and, in compliment to their 
boat, they sang, with voices which rang in sweet 
accord — 

" On thy fair bosom, silver lake, 

The Wild Swan spreads her snowy sail ; 
Around her breast the ripples break 
As down she bears before the gale." 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 285 

Old Nip sat at the rudder, and rolled his eyes 
in delight. And here we must beg pardon for 
not introducing " Nip " to our readers before ; 
for, though he is only a colored person, acting in 
the capacity of " chief cook and bottle-washer " 
to the company, he is accustomed to receiving 
many marks of respect and attention. He was 
a sailor by profession, and may originally have 
been named " Neptune " from his fondness for 
the sea, as well as for the self-importance which 
is one of his distinguishing characteristics ; if so, 
this flattering cognomen has gradually dimin- 
ished to " Nip." Nip is not only a sailor, but a 
tolerable cook, and, altogether, a most efficient 
aid to such an enterprise. About two hours 
after getting under way, he served them up a 
comfortable lunch. The ladies insisted upon 
using their belt-knives for cutting their sand- 
wiches, and this formidable table-cutlery doubt- 
less gave their cold chicken and biscuit a keener 
relish. 

It was nearly sunset when the Wild Swan 



286 PICNICKING IN THE PIPE WOODS. 

skimmed across Thunder Bay and folded her 
wings in a little cove not far from the mouth of 
the River Sable. Now came a time of the most 
joyous excitement. Old Nip was in his element 
— literally — for, in his haste to disembark his 
cooking utensils, he made a false step and reeled 
overboard. He laughed as heartily as any one, 
when he got to shore and shook the water off 
him. 

"Better be dis chile dan de provisions. He 
am neder sugah nor salt, and some of dem boys 
are, hi ! hi ! " he chuckled. 

An immense forest stretched back into the 
country from the shore. The trees were mostly 
pines, but many of a grayer foliage gave variety 
to what would otherwise have been a rather 
gloomy monotony of color. A clump of oaks 
stood near the water, on a slight elevation cov- 
ered with fine, velvety grass, a little crisp with 
the late frosts. This spot was selected for their 
first night's camping-ground. The gentlemen 
busied themselves assisting Nip. The ladies 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 287 

were all very anxious to render themselves use- 
ful, but, not being permitted, they ran about, 
making short voyages of discovery and observa- 
tion, scientific and otherwise, until, being wea- 
ried, they threw themselves, like a cluster of 
Amazonian wood-nymphs, under the trees, and 
awaited the result of the labors of their attend- 
ants. 

As the sun set, the still air took on just that 
degree of chilliness which made the fire which 
Nip had kindled as agreeable as it was cheerful. 

" That's right, Nip ! Pile on the brush ! tote 
up the logs ! Ha, ladies, isn't this glorious ? " 
cried Harry Hugay, as the smoke rolled away in 
huge volumes, and the flames rose, sparkling and 
crackling, breaking in upon the coming twilight, 
with a weird and fanciful effect. 

Two tents were pitched beneath the trees ; 
some hemlock branches were found for the con- 
struction of mattresses, over which blankets were 
spread ; and now, as the night closed in, the 
birds and beasts of Thunder Bay might have wit- 



288 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

nessed a novel scene, such as those lonely shores 
had never before been the theatre of. 

The huge fire lit up everything in the vicinity, 
making grotesque and almost frightful shadows 
farther back in the wood. The waves, as they 
ran into the cove, and broke upon the beach with 
a gentle murmur, caught a golden glimmer upon 
their crests ; and the little vessel, snugly moored, 
was lit up, her masts standing out in bold relief 
against the darkness which brooded farther away 
over the lake. The white tents, the beautiful 
women and the busy men, the grand old trees, 
and Nip, like some black sorcerer, bending over 
his caldrons, were vividly revealed in the flicker- 
ing red light, while night, silence, and vast space 
stretched away in the background. 

A cloth was spread upon the grass, and a fine 
display of elegant table-furniture was made by 
the tasteful and happy Nip. There was a tin 
plate and a tin cup for each person, two superb 
new shingles, one holding sea-biscuit, the other 
Boston crackers, a salt-cellar twisted from a 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 289 

crimson oak-leaf, and a round wooden box full of 
the nicest powdered sugar. A cold boiled ham 
occupied the place of the principal dish. When 
the kettle had boiled, Mrs. Florence asked per- 
mission of the chief cook to make the tea, which 
privilege he graciously granted, with a flourish 
and bow. 

" Sartin, Missus, I concedes de superior man- 
ner in which you prepare dat infusun. I nebah 
was pertickler fond of black tea, but when it 
comes to de coffee, missus, I must 'spectfully de- 
cline any supervision. I is complement to de 
coffee, Missus." 

Mrs. Florence conceded his accomplishments 
in making coffee. 

" Our es-steamed friend looks like a sable sor- 
cerer compounding a magic draught for the lords 
and ladies whom he has bewitched," remarked 
Mr. Hugay, as white wreaths of mist arose from 
the damp garments of the old negro, as he bent 
over his kettles and pans before the crackling 
fire. 



29O PICNICKING IN THE PIPE WOODS. 

Just as Lissa placed the teapot upon a shingle 
by her plate, Captain George came from the 
wood with his last armful of hemlock brush for 
the couches. 

" What savory smell is this which salutes my 
hungry nostrils ? " he cried, sniffing in a most 
ungentlemanly manner, as he came from the 
tent. "Answer. Nip; what have you been doing 
to merit our especial commendation ? " 

" I can't say, Massa ; I is not responsible for 
dat odoriferous flagrance. S'pecks Massa Dick 
knows most about it. Smells to me like fish." 

The tin horn which Captain George wore at 
his belt was raised to his lips to summon by its 
sweet strains his company to mess. Just as they 
seated themselves, a la Turk, around the lowly 
board, Sergeant Dick made his appearance from 
the other side of the great fire, bearing on a long 
shingle a black bass broiled to the last point of 
perfection. He had stolen down to the cove, to 
a deep and secluded little inlet, and, throwing 
out an impromptu line and bait, had succeeded, 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 20,1 

almost at the first trial, in catching a fine fish, 
which he had prepared unknown to the others, 
and broiled on the coals. 

" Bravo, Sergeant ! We're much obliged for 
such a testimonial of friendship, if it is a little 
of-fish-us," said Harry Hugay. " I always sup- 
posed you had a tenor voice, but now I see you 
have a bass-oh." 

" Our captain has decided that you cannot be 
allowed to worry the company with your execra- 
ble puns, Mr. Hugay," said Anne. " You are to 
be fined for every one you are guilty of." 

" Then, at least, they will be sure to be fine 
puns," he returned. " But I beg the company's 
pardon, and promise to desist. A true soldier 
should never be guilty of so cowardly an offence. 
Shall I pass your cup for some tea, Miss Dahlia ? 
Everybody's at liberty to drink as much as they 
can get; there's no danger of their being laid 
under this table." 

Everybody laughed, of course; they were just 
in the mood for laughing at any and everything. 



292 PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 

Amidst mirth and hilarity the meal was disposed 
of, and very few fragments were left ; for the ap- 
petites of the party were as sharp as the huge 
knives with which they managed to slice their 
fish and ham. Even dainty Miss Dahlia did not 
scruple to confess that she had been absolutely 
hungry. 

After supper, they sat at a convenient distance 
from the fire, and the tide of conversation flowed 
fast and merry. There were songs, too; and 
Sergent Dick had out his guitar, which he had 
brought at the instance of Miss Clementine. 
This lady was very happy, for she sat by the 
Sergeant's side, and, contented in this nearness, 
did not observe that his black eyes, softened in 
their usually piercing light, were turned often 
and lingeringly upon Anne, who sat richly enjoy- 
ing the scene, but more quiet than the others. 
Occasionally her beautiful eyes would be up- 
turned to the starlit heavens, or brooding upon 
the darkness of the forest, as if striving to fathom 
its mystery ; and when a whippoorwill, far away 



PICNICKING IN THE PINE WOODS. 293 

in its depths, struck up its melancholy music, 
she made them all be still and listen. 

Nip kept up a glorious fire. It was a curious 
sight to see those charming women in their outre 
attire, the red light of the flames, flashing over 
their lovely, animated faces, and sparkling upon 
the knives which glittered in their leather belts. 
They all entered into the spirit of the scene as 
heartily as their bolder companions could desire. 

It was nearly midnight before any of the party 
were willing to break the enchantment of this 
their first night in camp; but fatigue at last 
overcame their high spirits, and with drowsy 
good-nights, they retired within their tents, while 
Nip wrapped himself in a blanket and lay down 
before the fire, which he had replenished with 
some choice logs. 

From a story written for Godeifs Magazine, by the AutJior 
of "Lucy in the City," The Tallow Family," &c. 




A GOLDEN WEDDING. 



A drop of rain roused Sylvia from the con- 
templation of an imaginary portrait of the little 
Cuban, and looking skyward she saw that the 
frolicsome wind had prepared a practical joke for 
them in the shape of a thunder-shower. A con- 
sultation was held, and it was decided to run on 
till a house appeared, in which they would take 
refuge till the storm was over. On they went, 
but the rain was in greater haste than they, and 
a summary drenching was effected before the 
toot of a dinner-horn guided them to shelter. 

Landing they marched over the fields, a moist 
and mirthful company, toward a red farm-house 

standing under venerable elms, with a patriarchal 

(294) 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 295 

air which promised hospitable treatment and 
good cheer. A promise speedily fulfilled by the 
lively old woman, who appeared with an ener- 
getic " Shoo ! " for the speckled hens congre- 
gated in the porch, and a hearty welcome for the 
weather-beaten strangers. 

" Sakes alive ! " she exclaimed ; " you be in a 
mess, ain't you ? Come right in and make your- 
selves at home. Abel, take the men folks up 
chamber, and fit 'em out with anything dry you 
kin lay hands on. Phebe, see to this poor little 
creeter, and bring her down lookin' less like a 
drownded kitten. Nat, clear up your wittlin's 
so's't they kin toast their feet when they come 
clown; and, Cinthy, .don't dish up dinner jest 
yet." 

These directions were given with such vigor- 
ous illustration, and the old face shone with 
such friendly zeal, that the four submitted at 
once, sure that the kind soul was pleasing herself 
in serving them, and finding something very at- 
tractive in the place, the people, and their own 



296 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

position. Abel, a staid farmer of forty, obeyed 
his mother s order regarding the " men folks ; " 
and Phebe, a buxom girl of sixteen, led Sylvia to 
her own room, eagerly offering her best. 

As she dried and redressed herself, Sylvia 
made sundry discoveries, which added to the ro- 
mance and the enjoyment of the adventure. A 
smart gown lay on the bed in the low chamber, 
also various decorations upon chair and table, 
suggesting that some festival was afloat ; and a 
few questions elicited the facts. Grandpa had 
seven sons and three daughters, all living, all 
married, and all blessed with flocks of children. 
Grandpa's birthday was always celebrated by a 
family gathering; but to-day, being the fiftieth 
anniversary of his wedding, the various house- 
holds had resolved to keep it with unusual pomp ; 
and all were coming for a supper, a dance, and a 
" sing " at the end. Upon receipt of which intel- 
ligence Sylvia proposed an immediate departure ; 
but the grandmother and daughter cried out at 
this, pointed to the still falling rain, the lowering 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 297 

sky, the wet heap on the floor, and insisted on 
the strangers all remaining to enjoy the festival, 
and give an added interest by their presence. 

Half promising what she wholly desired, Syl- 
via put on Phebe's second best blue gingham 
gown, for the preservation of which she added a 
white apron, and completing the whole with a 
pair of capacious shoes, went down to find her 
party and reveal the state of affairs. They were 
bestowed in the prim, best parlor, and greeted 
her with a peal of laughter, for all were en cos- 
tume. 

Abel was a stout man, and his garments hung 
upon Moor with a melancholy air; Mark had 
disdained them, and with an eye to effect laid 
hands on an old uniform, in which he looked 
like a volunteer of 1812; while Warwick's supe- 
rior height placed Abel's wardrobe out of the 
question ; and grandpa, taller than any of his 
seven goodly sons, supplied him with a sober 
suit, — roomy, square-flapped, and venerable, — 
which became him, and with his beard produced 



298 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

/ 

the curious effect of a youthful patriarch. To 
Sylvia's relief it was unanimously decided to re- 
main, trusting to their penetration to discover 
the most agreeable method of returning the 
favor ; and regarding the adventure as a wel- 
come change, after two days' solitude, all went 
out to dinner prepared to enact their parts with 
spirit. 

The meal being despatched, Mark and War- 
wick went to help Abel with some out-door ar- 
rangements ; and begging grandma to consider 
him one of her own boys, Moor tied on an apron 
and fell to work with Sylvia, laying the long 
table which was to receive the coming stores. 
True breeding is often as soon felt by the uncul- 
tivated as by the cultivated ; and the zeal with 
which the stransrers threw themselves into the 
business of the hour won the family, and placed 
them all in friendly relations at once. The old 
lady let them do what they would, admiring 
everything, and declaring over and over again 
that her new assistants " beat her boys and girls 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 299 

to nothin' with their tastiness and smartness." 
Sylvia trimmed the table with common flowers 
till it was an inviting sight before a viand ap- 
peared upon it, and hung green boughs about the 
room, with candles here and there to lend a festal 
light. Moor trundled a great cheese in from the 
dairy, brought milk-pans without mishap, dis- 
posed dishes, and caused Nat to cleave to him by 
the administration of surreptitous titbits and joc- 
ular suggestions ; while Phebe tumbled about in 
every one's way, quite wild with excitement ; and 
grandma stood in her pantry like a culinary gen- 
eral, swaying a big knife for a baton, as she 
issued orders and marshalled her forces, the busi- 
est and merriest of them all. 

Away clattered Nat to be immediately ab- 
sorbed into the embraces of a swarm of relatives 
who now began to arrive in a steady stream. 

Old and young, large and small, rich and poor, 
with overflowing bands or trifles humbly given, 
all were received alike, all hugged by grandpa, 



300 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

kissed by grandma, shaken half breathless by 
Uncle Abel, " welcomed by Aunt Patience, and 
danced around by Phebe and Nat till the house 
seemed a great hive of hilarious and affectionate 
bees. At first the strangers stood apart, but 
Phebe spread their story with such complimen- 
tary additions of her own that the family circle 
opened wide and took them in at once. 

Sylvia was enraptured with the wilderness of 
babies, and leaving the others to their own de- 
vices followed the matrons to " Patience's room," 
and gave herself up to the pleasant tyranny of 
the small potentates, who swarmed over her as 
she sat on the floor, tugging at her hair, explor- 
ing her eyes, covering her with moist kisses, 
and keeping up a babble of little voices more 
delightful to her than the discourse of the flat- 
tering mamas who benignly surveyed her admi- 
ration and their offspring's prowess. 

The young people went to romp in the barn ; 
the men, armed with umbrellas, turned out en 
masse to inspect the farm and stock, and com- 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 3OI 

pare notes over pig pens and garden gates. But 
Sylvia lingered where she was, enjoying a scene 
which filled her with a tender pain and pleasure, 
for each baby was laid on grandma's knee, its 
small virtues, vices, ailments, and accomplish- 
ments rehearsed, its beauties examined, its 
strength tested, and the verdict of the family ora- 
cle pronounced upon it as it was cradled, kissed 
and blessed on the . kind old heart which had 
room for every care and joy of those who called 
her mother. It was a sight the girl never forgot, 
because just then she was ready to receive it. 
Her best lessons did not come from books, and 
she learned one then as she saw the fairest suc- 
cess of a woman's life while watching this happy 
grandmother with fresh faces framing her with- 
ered one, daughterly voices chorusing good 
wishes, and the harvest of half a century of wed- 
ded life beautifully garnered in her arms. 

The fragrance of coffee and recollections of 
Cynthia's joyful aberrations at such - periods 
caused a breaking up of the maternal conclave, 



302 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

The babies were borne away to simmer between 
blankets until called for. The women unpacked 
baskets, brooded over teapots, and kept up an 
harmonious clack as the table was spread with 
pyramids of cake, regiments of pies, quagmires 
of jelly, snow-banks of bread, and goldmines of 
butter; every possible article of food, from baked 
beans to wedding cake, finding a place on that 
sacrificial altar. 

Fearing to be in the way, Sylvia departed to 
the barn, where she found her party in a chaotic 
Babel ; for the offshoots had been as fruitful as 
the parent tree, and some four dozen young im- 
mortals were in full riot. The bashful roosting 
with the hens on remote lofts and beams ; the 
bold flirting or playing in the full light of day ; 
boys whooping, girls screaming, all effervescing as 
if their spirits had reached the explosive point 
and must find vent in noise. Mark was in his 
element, introducing all manner of new games, 
the liveliest of the old and keeping the revel at 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 303 

its height ; for rosy, bright-eyed girls were plenty, 
and the ancient uniform universally approved. 

Warwick had a flock of lads about him ab- 
sorbed in the marvels he was producing with 
knife, stick and string ; and Moor a rival flock 
of little lasses breathless with interest in the 
tales he told. One on each knee, two at each 
side, four in a row on the hay at his feet, and the 
boldest of all with an arm about his neck and a 
curly head upon his shoulder, for Uncle Abel's 
clothes seemed to invest the wearer with a pass- 
port to their confidence at once. Sylvia joined 
this group and partook of a quiet entertainment 
with as child-like a relish as any of them, while 
the merry tumult went on about her. 

The toot of the horn sent the whole barnful 
streaming into the house like a flock of hungry 
chickens, where, by some process known only to 
the mothers of large families, every one was 
wedged close about the table, and the feast 
began. This was none of your stand-up, wafery, 
bread and butter teas, but a thorough going, sit- 



304 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

down supper, and all settled themselves with 
a smiling satisfaction, prophetic of great powers 
and an equal willingness to employ them. A 
detachment of half-grown girls was drawn up 
behind grandma, as waiters ; Sylvia insisted on 
being one of them, and proved herself a neat- 
handed Phillis, though for a time slightly bewil- 
dered by the gastronomic performances she be- 
held. Babies ate pickles, small boys sequestered 
pie with a velocity that made her wink, women 
swam in the tea, and the men, metaphorically 
speaking, swept over the table like a swarm of 
locusts, while the host and hostess beamed upon 
one another and their robust descendants with 
an honest pride, which was beautiful to see. 

"That Mr. Wackett ain't eat scursely nothin', 
he jest sets lookin' round kinder 'mazed like. 
Do go and make him fall to on somethin', or I 
shan't take a mite of comfort in my vittles," said 
grandma, as the girl came with an empty cup. 

" He is enjoying it with all his heart and eyes, 
ma'am, for we don't see such fine spectacles 






A GOLDEN WEDDING. 305 

everyday. I'll take him something that he likes 
and make him eat it." 

" Sakes alive ! be you to be Mis Wackett ? I'd 
no idea of it, you look so young." 

" Nor I ; we are only friends, ma'am." 

" Oh ! " and the monosyllable was immensely 
expressive, as the old lady confided a knowing 
nod to the teapot, into whose depths she was just 
then peering. Sylvia walked away wondering 
why persons were always thinking and saying 
such things. 

As she paused behind Warwick's chair with a 
glass of cream and a round of brown bread, he 
looked up at her with his blandest expression, 
though a touch of something like regret was in 
his voice. 

" This is a sight worth living eighty hard years 
to see, and I envy that old couple as I never en- 
vied any one before. To rear ten virtuous chil- 
dren, put ten useful men and women into the 
world, and give them health and courage to work 
out their own salvation as these honest souls will 



306 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

do, is a better job done for the Lord, than win- 
ning a battle, or ruling a State. Here is all 
honor to them. Drink it with me." 

He put the glass to his lips, drank what she 
left, and rising, placed her in his seat with the 
decisive air which few resisted. 

"You take no thought for yourself and are do- 
ing too much ; sit here a little, and let me take a 
few steps where you have taken many." 

He served her, and standing at her back, bent 
now and then to speak, still with that softened 
look upon the face so seldom stirred by the gen- 
tler emotions that lay far down in that deep 
heart of his ; for never had he felt so solitary. 

All things must have an end, even a family 
feast, and by the time the last boy's buttons per- 
emptorily announced, " Thus far shalt thou go 
and no farther," all professed themselves satis- 
fied, and a general uprising took place. The sur- 
plus population were herded in parlor and cham- 
bers, while a few energetic hands cleared away, 
and with much clattering of dishes and wafting 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 2>°7 

of towels, left grandma's spandy clean premises 
as immaculate as ever. It was dark when all was 
done, so the kitchen was cleared, the candles 
lighted, Patience's door set open, and little Nat 
established in an impromptu orchestra, composed 
of a table and a chair, whence the first squeak 
of his fiddle proclaimed that the ball had begun. 

Everybody danced ; the babies stacked on Pa- 
tience's bed, or penned behind chairs, sprawled 
and pranced in unsteady mimicry of their elders. 
Ungainly farmers, stiff with labor, recalled their 
early days and tramped briskly as they swung 
their wives about with a kindly pressure of the 
hard hands that had worked so long together. 
Little pairs toddled gravely through the figures, 
or frisked promiscuously in a grand conglomera- 
tion of arms and legs. Gallant cousins kissed 
pretty cousins at exciting periods, and were not 
rebuked. Mark wrought several of these incipi- 
ent lovers to a pitch of despair, by his devotion 
to the comeliest damsels, and the skill with 
which he executed unheard-of evolutions before 



308 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

their admiring eyes ; Moor led out the poorest 
and the plainest with a respect that caused their 
homely faces to shine, and their scant skirts to 
be forgotten. 

Warwick skimmed his five years partner 
through the air in a way that rendered her 
speechless with delight ; and Sylvia danced as 
she had never danced before. With sticky-fin- 
gered boys, sleepy with repletion, but bound to 
last it out ; with rough-faced men who paid her 
paternal compliments ; with smart youths who 
turned sheepish with that white lady's hand in 
their big brown ones, and one ambitious lad who 
confided to her his burning desire to work a saw- 
mill, and marry a girl with black eyes and yellow 
hair. While, perched aloft, Nat bowed away till 
his pale face glowed, till all hearts warmed, all 
feet beat responsive to the good old tunes which 
have put so much health into human bodies, and 
so much happiness into human souls. 

At the stroke of nine the last dance came. All 
down the long kitchen stretched two breathless 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 3O9 

rows ; grandpa and grandma at the top, the 
youngest pair of grandchildren at the bottom, 
and all between fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, 
and cousins, while such of the babies as were 
still extant, bobbed with unabated vigor, as Nat 
struck up the Virginia Reel, and the sturdy old 
couple led off as gallantly as the young one who 
came tearing up to meet them. Away they went, 
grandpa's white hair flying in the wind, grand- 
ma's impressive cap awry with excitement, as 
they ambled down the middle, and finished with 
a kiss when their tuneful journey was done, amid 
immense applause from those who regarded this 
as the crowning event of the day. 

When all had had their turn, and twirled till 
they were dizzy, a short lull took place, with re- 
freshments for such as still possessed the power 
of enjoying them. Then Phebe appeared with 
an armful of books, and all settled themselves for 
the family " sing." 

Sylvia had heard much fine music, but never 
any that touched her like this, for, though often 



3IO A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

discordant, it was hearty, with that under-current 
of feeling which adds sweetness to the rudest lay, 
and is often more attractive than the most florid 
ornament or faultless execution. Every one 
sang as every one had danced, with all their 
might ; shrill children, soft-voiced girls, lullaby- 
singing mothers, gruff boys, and strong-lunged 
men ; the old pair quavered, and still a few inde- 
fatigable babies crowed behind their little coops. 
Songs, ballads, comic airs, popular melodies, and 
hymns, came in rapid succession. And when 
they had ended with that song which should be 
classed with sacred music for association's sake, 
and standing hand in hand about the room with 
the golden bride and bridegroom in their midst, 
sang " Home," Sylvia leaned against her brother 
with dim eyes and a heart too full to sing. 

Still standing thus when the last note had 
soared up and died, the old man folded his hands 
and began to pray. It was an old-fashioned 
prayer, such as the girl had never heard from the 
Bishop's lips; ungrammatical, inelegant and long. 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 311 

A quiet talk with God, manly in its straight-for- 
ward confession of short-comings, child-like in its 
appeal for guidance, fervent in its gratitude for 
all good gifts, and the crowning one of loving 
children. As if close intercourse had made the 
two familiar, this human father turned to the 
Divine, as these sons and daughters turned to 
him, as free to ask, as confident of a reply, as all 
afflictions, blessings, cares and crosses, were laid 
down before him, and the work of eighty years 
submitted to his hand. 

There were no sounds in the room but the one 
voice often tremulous with emotion and with age, 
the coo of some dreaming baby, or the low sob 
of some mother whose arms were empty, as the 
old man stood there, rugged and white atop as 
the granite hills, with the old wife at his side, a 
circle of sons and daughters girdling them round, 
and in all hearts the thought that as the former 
wedding had been made for time, this golden one 
at eighty must be for eternity. 

While Sylvia looked and listened, a sense of 



312 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

genuine devotion stole over her ; the beauty and 
the worth of prayer grew clear to her through 
the earnest speech of that unlettered man, and 
for the first time she fully felt the nearness and 
the dearness of the Universal Father, whom she 
had been taught to fear, yet longed to love. 

" Now, my children, you must go before the 
little folks are tuckered out," said grandpa, heart- 
ily. " Mother and me can't say enough to thank 
you for the presents you have fetched us, the 
dutiful wishes you have give us, the pride and 
comfort you have allers ben toe us. I ain't no 
hand at speeches, so I shan't make none, but jest 
say ef any 'fliction falls on any on you, remember 
mother's here toe help you bear it ; ef any 
worldly loss comes toe you, remember fathers 
house is yourn while it stans, and so the Lord 
bless and keep us all." 

" Three cheers for gramper and grammer ! " 
roared a six-foot scion as a safety-valve for sun- 
dry unmasculine emotions, and three rousing 
hurras made the rafters ring, struck terror to the 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 313 

heart of the oldest inhabitant of the rat-haunted 
garret, and summarily woke all the babies. 

Then the good-byes began, the flurry of wrong 
baskets, pails and bundles in wrong places ; the 
sorting out of small folk too sleepy to know or 
care what became of them ; the maternal duck- 
ings, and paternal shouts for Kitty, Cy, Ben, Bill 
or Mary Ann ; the piling into vehicles with 
much ramping of indignant horses unused to 
such late hours; the last farewells, the roll of 
wheels, as one by one the happy loads departed, 
and peace fell upon the household for another 
year. 

" I declare for't, I never had sech an out and 
out good time sense I was born intoe the world," 
said grandma. " Abram, you are fit to drop, and 
so be I ; now lets set and talk it over along of 
Patience fore we go toe bed." 

The old couple got into their chairs, and as 
they sat there side by side, remembering that she 
had given no gift, Sylvia crept behind them, and 
lending the magic of her voice to the simple air, 



314 A GOLDEN WEDDING. 

sang the fittest song for time and place — " John 
Anderson, my Jo." It was too much for grandma, 
the old heart overflowed, and reckless of the 
cherished cap she laid her head on her " John's " 
shoulder, exclaiming through her tears — 

" That's the cap sheaf of the hull, and I can't 
bear no more to-night. Abram, lend me your 
hankchif, for I dunno where mine is, and my face 
is all of a drip." 

Before the red bandana had gently performed 
its work in grandpa's hand, Sylvia beckoned her 
party from the room, and showing them the clear 
moonlight night which followed the storm, sug- 
gested that they should both save appearances 
and enjoy a novel pleasure by floating homeward 
instead of sleeping. The tide against which 
they had pulled in coming up would sweep them 
rapidly along, and make it easy to retrace in a 
few hours the way they had loitered over for 
three days. 

The pleasant excitement of the evening had 
not yet subsided, and all applauded the plan as a 



A GOLDEN WEDDING. 315 

fit finale to their voyage. The old lady strongly 
objected, but the young people overruled her, 
and being re-equipped in their damaged garments 
they bade the friendly family a grateful adieu, 
left their more solid thanks under Nat's pillow, 
and re-embarked upon their shining road. 

"Moods."— Miss Louisa M. Alcott. 




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